


I Wish We'd Had More Time

by HannahkinSkywalker



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, DCEU, Justice League (2017), Man of Steel (2013), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Bruce Is a Good Bro, Bruce Ships It, Bruce/Diana Friendship, Buddy Bruce and Diana, DC Broke My Heart, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hippolyta Ships It, I Ship It, Maybe I'll save porn for later, POV Bruce Wayne, POV Third Person, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Pre-Justice League (2017), Resurrected!Steve, Temporary Amnesia, Whump, Will it get sexy? IDK, wondertrev, wondertrev fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahkinSkywalker/pseuds/HannahkinSkywalker
Summary: After a vague summons from Bruce, Diana decides to stay at Wayne Manor for a while, curious to see what is wrong. To her surprise, she finds Steve Trevor standing before her, living and breathing. Bruce has no idea who he is or where he came from, only that he is important to Diana. If only he knew how important. Diana is more than shocked to find Steve back in her life, but there's a problem. Steve is broken, and doesn't remember his time in the war, or his time with her.





	1. Big Hand Twelve, Little Hand One

_Tick._

Diana woke with a start, her body jolting upwards. Eyes wide open, she glanced around, sitting up. She was sure she’d heard something –a loud crash of some sort. She peered around the room, ready to defend herself. Shadows of imaginary enemies danced in the darkest parts of her vision until her eyes adjusted, the details of her room coming into focus. She was alone. Swinging her legs over the side, she pushed herself off the bed.

She was sure she’d heard something.

The only light in the room was a sliver of moonlight creeping past the sheer curtain that was supposed to cover the glass balcony doors. Her bare feet didn’t make a sound as she padded over to the doors. Outside she could see small dots of light from the city around her. Paris was never completely dark, but was usually quiet at this time of night. Had she heard someone passing her apartment on the pavement below? She couldn’t be sure.

_Tick._

She heard it again, thundering in the room, at least, it was to Diana. She spun on her heel, watching for any movement. Whatever it was, it was definitely in the room.

The ticking continued and rose in volume. It was overwhelming, but she needed to find it. Diana moved around the room, listening for the repeating noise. It grated her ears, ticking over and over again. It grew louder still as she approached her chest of drawers. The noise rocked through the whole room, feeling uncomfortable vibrations in the pit of her stomach. Crouching, she opened the bottom drawer, the steady tempo synchronised to her thudding heart.

The drawer was filled with an assortment of paraphernalia. She shoved some rubbish aside, revealing a small black box that was hidden away for safekeeping. It was almost shaking it was so loud. Tentatively, she picked it up, her fingers fumbling over the fastening.

Then the world was silent. 

She dropped to sit on the floor. The box was wide open, and she heard nothing. Had she gone deaf? Inside the box was a fitted photograph. She pulled it out, revealing underneath a brown leather watch. She frowned, aware that something was different.

_Tick._

The miniscule hand on the watch’s face twitched. It flickered and then froze. Was that real? Diana thought she must have been going mad. It twitched again, more forcefully, and with a great push the hand ticked forward. It ticked again, and again. It was now fully functioning, but Diana couldn’t understand why. This watch hadn’t worked in a hundred years. Time had stopped when...

Her eyes were drawn to the photograph. She stared at the grainy image of the watch’s rightful owner. Why was it suddenly working now? Diana couldn’t make sense of it. She shook the watch gently, raising it to her ear in case she was mistaken. The soft ticking sounded off regularly. She cupped it in both hands, rising to stand as she peered at the off-white face. “What are you doing?” She muttered, as if an inanimate object could understand.

The watch ticked on unrelenting, unaware of the confusion it was causing her. She delicately carried it to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. It was late. She would have to look into it tomorrow. She placed it on the bedside table, and lay down. She watched as the hands ticked on, wondering what on earth could have caused the sudden change.

 

~*~

 

Diana planned to continue as normal until she could figure out why the watch was suddenly working again. She continued her work at the Louvre, socialised just enough to appear inconspicuous, and spent her nights studying it. She couldn’t bear to take it apart or harm it in any way. Apart from the photograph she had recently acquired, this watch was the only proof that the events that now seemed a world away ever happened at all. She was sat at her desk, eyes drooping as sleep attempted to take hold of her.

Her laptop suddenly lit up, too bright to look at directly in the darkness. An email notification had popped up. She frowned, seeing it was from Bruce. She didn’t receive emails from Bruce often, so it must have been important.

 

_You are needed here. Come as soon as you can._

_Bruce_

 

It must have been very important indeed.

Over the next two days she got her affairs in order. She organised time off, and tried to work out Bruce’s cryptic email. She’d replied with the date he should expect her, but she didn’t think there would be any elaboration until she arrived. She supposed it would make sense soon. 

Packing took more time than originally intended. Bruce’s invitation had no description as to what she was _needed_ for. She took her armour in a hidden pocket in her suitcase, lined so it would not interfere with security systems. She had Bruce to thank for that. She folded some human clothes, thankful that these garments were much more comfortable than those overcomplicated, ungainly things she’d tried on her first visit to the World of Men. Opening drawers and cupboards to check she had all her things, Diana paused over the box. She delicately pulled it out of its drawer, perching on the edge of her bed as she opened it. Would she need it?

The watch had travelled with Diana, wherever she went, for nearly a hundred years. It had only just started working again, but perhaps Diana could find greater understanding during her stay. After all, she wanted to have a little part of Steve with her.

Steve. For a century he had only existed in her memory. Diana had nearly begun to forget what he really looked like, until Bruce showed up, and found her photograph. Diana liked Bruce; he had been a good friend to her, once they got to know one another. He had given her the original copy of this photo, and she was more grateful than Bruce would ever know. Her fingertips gently brushed over the blurred edges of Steve’s face. The black and white, grainy photo could never do his face justice. She gently traced over every line of every face in the photo, apart from her own. She had loved all of her boys dearly, Samy, Charlie, and Chief. They were good to her after the war, and they’d stayed friends until, one by one, they each left her. It wasn’t good to wallow in this now, she needed to get ready to leave.

She didn’t know why Bruce wanted her in Gotham, but she presumed he had good intentions. He had gained her trust over the last year or so, and she was sure Bruce knew he was not to break that trust.

After another moment’s pondering, she returned the box’s contents and shut it tight. Diana didn’t have much, but she took that box with her wherever she went, as one of her most prized possessions. Soon enough the taxi was outside ready to take her to the airport.

 

~*~

 

Paris to New Jersey was a long-haul flight, but flying was far faster than travelling by horse or by boat, which was Diana’s original mode of transport. Nine hours later, an employee of Wayne Enterprises met Diana at the exit, and escorted her to a car. Diana must have fallen asleep during the car ride, as it felt like no time at all before they were pulling up outside a large block of apartments. Diana remembered she had once mistakenly gone to Wayne Manor in search of Bruce, only to find it in ruin. She remembered how fear had pierced through her chest for only a moment, until Bruce exited from a crypt further into the grounds. The manor had been in this condition for some time, it seemed, but Bruce had not yet gone into any detail, and Diana wasn’t about to push him.

They pulled up to the modern lake house. The elegant design, and minimal fuss seemed to suit Bruce far more than an old manor, Diana mused. The driver took her back from the boot of the car and escorted her into the house. Upon entering she was greeted by Bruce, whose expression was stoic but she could tell he was pleased to see her. With a fleeting, polite kiss on the cheek – a human custom Diana had adopted many years ago – Bruce led her to the kitchen, pouring out two glasses of juice.

“If it were anyone else I’d invited, I’d presume they wanted some time to rest after such a long flight-” Bruce started, offering a glass across the marble top island. “But you knew I’d be eager to get to it?” Diana continued, taking the glass. She leant over the island, propped up by her elbows. “Your email sounded rather urgent, but now you seem...” She had started to insinuate Bruce was completely calm, but something was new. While Bruce usually had a thin sheet draped over his worn, stern demeanour, today he seemed to be concealing something else. He was watching Diana keenly, studying her as much as she was he. “What? Something’s wrong?” She assumed, genuinely concerned for him.

Bruce’s shoulders shifted, but Diana couldn’t quite tell if this was more or less tense than before. Either way, it wasn’t Bruce’s usual behaviour. “Not- wrong. But... It’s difficult to explain without just showing you.” He put down his own glass and left the kitchen, motioning her to follow. They walked down the glass corridor slowly, the lake’s edge lapping at the sand beneath the frosted glass floor. For a moment all Diana could hear was the water. “I think I’ve found someone. Someone you may know. From the photograph I gave you?” Diana’s attention was completely fixated on Bruce now, her own shoulders tightening. “What do you mean?” She didn’t understand. “Just- try to stay calm, Diana. He’s very confused and has only just come out of-” Bruce’s words faded, as he seemed to realise they were wasted on deaf ears.

Diana had noticed an open door at the end of the corridor, which was unusual, as Bruce didn’t often leave what few doors the open-plan house had open. It was darker, as the walls changed to wooden, and the room relied on artificial light. Diana ignored Bruce as she walked through the corridor; heel clicks reverberating through the floor and walls. She pulled the door fully open, and the world stopped.

Steve.

How? He’d died. She’d watched Steve die. But here he was, sitting on the edge of a sofa, looking up at her expectantly. For a brief moment, her heart thudded, she felt hollowed and simultaneously filled with joy at the sight of those bright blue eyes, akin to the familiar tropical skies of Themyscira. She wanted to grab and hold him close but found herself frozen. The sweet, hollow feeling turned into a burning ache in her chest. Steve was dead. She could hear the explosion all over again, her screams as she was bound by steel, helpless. She hadn’t realised she was gripping the doorframe – snapping the wood –to hold herself up until Bruce’s hand touched her shoulder blade, not to support her weight, but to support _her_. Steve was dead. This was not Steve. It couldn’t be.

She whipped around, grabbing the hand that had previously held her. She was reliving it all, the pain, and the anger. Her wrath bubbled at her fingertips as she gripped Bruce’s hand tightly, potentially breaking bone. “What the hell is this?” She roared, grabbing the taller man’s shoulder and shoving him into the doorframe, full force. Wood cracked beneath her strength. Bruce’s eyes never left hers, clearly in pain – and a little shocked – but ready to reason with her. “I told you it was difficult to explain.” He started, Diana’s forearm pressed hard against his windpipe. Diana didn’t want to listen. She wanted to throw things and scream, her heart breaking again. “You think this is some sort of joke? To bring a man here and pass him off-”

She stopped when she felt a tentative hand on her upper arm. “Miss- I’m sure you’re very upset. Bruce has been really good to me. I need you to do me a favour and _not kill him_. Please?” Diana’s head whipped around, Steve’s face impossibly close to hers – impossible because he was dead and gone – and whoever this was had fooled Bruce into bringing her here. Diana found it hard not to forget herself, almost lost in those pleading eyes, and his voice, his tone, everything about him was so _Steve_. He was talking with quiet confidence, but his needs were clear. Right now he needed Bruce to convince her he was genuine. It felt so familiar; after all, Steve had always been adept at spy games. Then again, all spies are good at pretending. There was one detail this intruder had forgotten, something was off. There wasn’t an inch of recognition in this man’s eyes. “I understand he’s done something to piss you off-” His gaze reached the doorframe, now snapped into shattered pieces, littering Bruce’s shoulders. “ _Really_ piss you off. I’m sure he’s very sorry. Please, just let go of him?” Diana’s focus remained on the imposter, but her grip on Bruce loosened, she pulled away entirely, and Bruce peeled himself off the broken frame, forcing in a few laboured breaths. Diana stepped back, the red mist fading. She was staring at... It couldn’t be Steve but at the same time he looked no different to the day she lost him. It hurt, but she couldn’t look away.

Bruce broke the silence. “After that introduction I think it’s time you leave, Steve. A car will be out the front to take you back. I’ll visit you tomorrow.” Despite his hoarse voice, there was authority in there that couldn’t be ignored. Diana continued to stare at the blond until he darted between the two, gave Bruce a curt nod and exited down the corridor and left the house. Diana’s focus followed Steve until he was out of view.

“I’m sure you’re confused – we all are. If you come down into the office I can show you what I’ve been up to the past few days-”

“Why would you do that?” Diana snapped, distancing herself from Bruce, she didn’t trust herself; she didn’t trust him anymore, either. “Why would you try to surprise me with something so cruel? What- did you find a look alike, hoping I would tell you where that picture came from? It’s none of your business!” As the speech went on, her eyes filled with tears and her volume rose. “You’ve embarrassed me, you’ve broken my trust- I don’t know why I bothered-” Bruce stepped forward, trying to address the delicate situation. 

“I know. I know it’s hard to understand, or even believe. I haven’t worked out everything yet myself but do you think I’d have asked you to come if I weren’t 100% certain?” He tried. Bruce was seeing a new side to Diana, now. Usually she was collected, prepared, and ready for anything. She was always in control of her situation. Now she seemed ten years younger, or in her case, probably a hundred years or so. She was upset and caught off guard. Guilt fell into the pit of Bruce’s stomach. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do.

Diana didn’t know what to say. She was hurt, and confused, and angry. She felt the raw pain she’d felt the moment she watched the plane explode. She felt ready to explode, herself. “I don’t need this.” She shoved herself past Bruce, starting in a walk and then fleeing as fast as she could. Bruce didn’t follow.

 

~*~

 

Bruce let her be for a number of hours. He knew where she’d gone. He kept his laptop open on the coffee table, CCTV footage keeping tabs on Diana. She’d gone to the Batcave, where she knew from her previous stays that there was a combat room. Bruce didn’t watch, as that felt like an intrusion. He kept it in the corner of his eye while working on other things, just in case she needed him. In the meantime he bandaged his hand as best he could – Alfred was out for a few days on annual holiday time – and mused over the day’s events.

Finally, the camera stopped blurring, and movement on screen slowed down. The holographic enemies faded away, leaving Diana sat in the centre of the floor, her sword and shield a few feet away. After ten minutes of no movement, Bruce rose from his seat. He closed the laptop and entered the elevator, going down. As his eyes adjusted to the darker space, he noticed one of the doors on the other side of the room left open. It was a sign, Bruce had come to realise, that whenever Diana was in the house doors were constantly left open. He stepped through it to see the same image he had left on the laptop. Diana was completely still on the floor, legs crossed in front of her. She was now in shorts and a vest, her hair in a tight braid, but a few wispy bits stuck to her face in sweat. She had exhausted herself.

She heard the door close behind Bruce as he entered the combat room. She listened to the soft echo of his shoes as he made his way down the spiral staircase. Diana didn’t know how long she’d been down there, she only knew that she’d fought and fought until she had nothing left. She’d destroyed countless images of enemies, feeling the artificial brunt of them all. Her eyes didn’t rise to meet Bruce’s as he came to a standstill at the foot of the stairs.

“I should have been totally honest from the beginning. I apologise for startling you. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case I was wrong. But, I’m rarely wrong so...” Diana still didn’t look at him, but her lip curled up at the quip, giving him permission to continue. “Whoever he is to you, you don’t need to explain it to me. If you’re willing to listen, I will happily tell you everything I know. No secrets.” He winced, eyes darting to his hand, the bruising starting to appear. 

“I’m sorry about your hand-” Diana’s voice was softer than usual, but seemed forced, like she was fighting shouting again- “and your door. I’ll pay for it to be replaced.”

She finally looked up at him, her expression was demanding. “Tell me everything.”


	2. Big Hand Six, Little Hand Two

No less than half an hour later, Diana had showered and changed into fresh clothes. She was back in the Batcave, sat in a large office chair next to Bruce, sitting in an identical chair. Bruce started to speak, but Diana quickly rose. She turned away, walking purposefully to the medical cabinet. She pulled out a number of supplies and returned. “That hand needs work.” She sat back in her seat, and held out a hand to take Bruce’s. He almost hesitated, but Bruce offered his injured hand, the bandage he’d put on rather useless as he only had one hand free. She unwrapped the bandage, revealing angry purple bruising mottling the wrist. She set to work. She felt bad for reacting so negatively, and lashing out. Bruce seemed to have picked up on why she paused her work. “You know I’ve had worse.” He stated frankly. She shook her head. “I still reacted poorly. I’m sorry for hurting you.” With a sigh, Diana continued. “So, did you go looking for him?”

“No- ah,” Bruce hissed in pain as Diana shifted the sprain, making sure everything was in place. “No, it was a complete coincidence. I was actually in the Central Hospital at the time. I was opening a new wing my company had funded.”

“For that boy you fostered? He nodded. Diana had read the new ‘Todd Wing’ was providing the hospital with new technologies that could save thousands more lives. She already knew of Wayne Enterprises’ penchant for philanthropy, particularly when it came to orphaned children. Bruce had a reputation for taking in children over the holiday season, and boosting education and opportunities for Gotham’s least fortunate children. That had stopped recently, at least, the personal touch was lost. While he still funded a number of education and welfare schemes, Bruce no longer visited or invited children to stay with him after the incident a few years ago.

Diana could remember reading articles reporting the murder during her background checks on Bruce. A boy was caught up in a heist gone wrong – some plan of Gotham’s infamous Joker. The eulogies claimed he was caught in crossfire, and innocent taken too soon. Bruce had never told Diana otherwise, but she felt the two had connected more than he let on. She realised he’d bristled over her clarification. That was nearly enough to confirm that there was more to that story than Bruce let on, but she didn’t want to press him.

“Yes, for Jason. It felt fitting. Possibly if the Central Hospital had had the technologies it does now, it could have... It had been originally proposition was to call it the ‘Wayne Wing’ but I wasn’t having any of that. It felt too narcissistic and wrongly alliterative. I was taking photos for the crowd of journalists that had come to report it, shaking hands with the CEO over and over again until I was asked to cut the ribbon. It happened just after I’d cut it. The ribbons fluttered down and camera shutters flashed again.”

“The journalists were overlapping each other, nothing they said make sense because they were too busy shouting over each other to actually ask a real question. I looked past them and he just caught my eye. At first I wasn’t sure where I could have recognised him from. I thought my eyes were playing tricks. He was shuffling, aided by a nurse at the time. He was in pyjamas, clearly provided by the hospital. He had been there long enough to be upgraded from an undignified gown to more concealing grey pyjamas. He looked tired, moving slower than I would have expected. What stood out to me most was his eyes. They were so bright despite being buried under a thick layer of exhaustion. That was what struck me the most, there was something familiar about him, which I couldn’t quite place. I didn’t realise I was moving towards him until the sea of reporters parted for me to pass through. I must have dropped the scissors because by the time I made it to the ward he’d been escorted to my hand was empty. I knocked, waiting for the nurse to help him sit. He winced as he sat, his hand grabbing at his lower back. I couldn’t see any bandages as the t shirt lifted when he moved but something must have been there.” 

“I waited for the nurse to come to the door. He wanted to know what I was up to. The first thing he said was: ‘Do you know this man?’”

“‘Good question,’ I’d replied. I asked him who the man was, as I believed he was a friend of a friend, which I can now confirm.” Bruce nodded to Diana, indicating she was the friend. “The nurse seemed rather defensive at first, stating that Steve was very confused, and struggling with memory. He’d been found on the side of the road one night a month or so ago. They’d cared for him as much as they could, but according to every test they took, he was completely healthy. They couldn’t work out what was wrong with him, even though looking at him it was obvious that _something_ was wrong. The nurse told me that so far they only knew the name he’d given them to call him by: Steve. The nurse said Steve had suffered with severe delusions since arriving at Central, and was potentially suffering with PTSD. They couldn’t find any public record of him, so there was no family to call, no friend to claim him. They knew nothing about Steve, and were baffled.”

“The nurse didn’t tell me this out of courtesy to me, it was more him wanting to protect Steve. Of course, if some stranger came up to you asking questions of someone you have duty of care over; you’d get a little defensive too. I commended him for his efforts, and explained that I thought I knew somebody who could really help Steve.” He nodded to Diana, including her in the story again. “I offered to cover the costs of any testing they had done on Steve during his stay, and I had him moved to a private care unit, not far from here. I sat down with Steve, discussed this with him, and told him I wanted him to have the best care available, and that I really believed I knew someone who could help with his memory problems. He’s come to trust me now. However, I knew before I sent any word to you about this, I had to be completely sure.”

Diana frowned, absorbing the information as quickly as Bruce offered it. Delusions? What was wrong?

“I took a photo from his first night in hospital, and compared it directly to your photo. I ran it through seven different facial recognition programmes and had Alfred look at it with me more times than he would have liked. We always came to the same conclusion: they matched perfectly. I then started to look into any trace record we could find of him. Of course, I already knew from my hospital visit that there were no public records to be found. They didn’t think to look further back than thirty years or so. I went back to the 1890s, and found a birth record for Steven Trevor. Records continued until he supposedly left America and didn’t appear anywhere else in 1916. Looking at his ties with the military, only one or two documents confirmed he’d been assigned to work in England. I pulled a favour owed to me in British Intelligence and was permitted access to their archives. I found a continued record, complete with fingerprints. I compared them to his and... they match.” 

He paused, watching Diana carefully. “I don’t know how to explain it yet, but they completely match. So far as I can see, he is Steve Trevor. He has to be the man in your photo. I’ve no idea how he got here, but he is here, and I thought...” He faltered, searching for any sort of emotion in Diana’s eyes. “I thought it was right you knew he was here. I don’t know who he was to you, but it seemed important I tell you.”

 Diana remained silent for some time. Her eyes were fixated on Bruce’s newly bandaged hand. She allowed all the information in, and was struggling to process it. How was Steve here? After a long pause, she breathed, “I watched him die.” 

Bruce nodded, understanding this was a sensitive topic. “I know it seems impossible, it seemed impossible to me at first, but to be honest, since meeting you and Clark Kent, my definition of impossible has altered slightly.”

They remained still and quiet. Diana still couldn’t quite believe it. “You said you checked the fingerprints? What about DNA? Are you certain it’s him?” A small gush of hope rose in her chest, but she knew it was wrong to think everything would be perfect and happy. Bruce nodded at her questions. “Yes, I checked a number of times. It has to be him. Diana,” he started, pulling his hand away. “There’s no easy way to say this. There is one hitch.” Diana’s brow furrowed, she knew it had been too good to be true. “His memories... They’re off. He remembers his life up until 1918, but he can’t remember meeting you. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t know you.”

 

~*~

 

The private health care facility Steve had recently moved to was only a twenty-minute drive away from Bruce Wayne’s home. It was on the outskirts of the city, far quieter than the Central Hospital he’d spent the previous month in. Steve still didn’t really understand why he was so interesting to Bruce – especially when he found out who the man actually _was_. Why would a billionaire take such an interest in him? For the moment, Steve wanted to focus on laying low, and he hoped Bruce’s connections could lead him to further understanding. He still didn’t trust the billionaire fully, but if Bruce had something that could help him figure out what the hell happened to him, Steve was willing to comply.

The car pulled up outside the health centre, and Steve let himself out. The driver offered to assist him, but Steve politely declined. For the first few weeks he’d really struggled with basic functions. His bones creaked, his eyes couldn’t focus, and he’d even struggled with bladder control right at the start. It was like his body was slowly waking up, one piece returning to full function at a time. His memories, it seemed, were to be the last thing to work properly. Multiple doctors had assured him that it would eventually return to him, when the time was right. That sounded like a load of hogwash to Steve, but who was he to question it? He didn’t truly understand where he was, _when_ he was or how he’d gotten here yet, but he hoped, with time, things would fall into place. 

As he let his thoughts get away with him, he found he’s slowly but surely made his way to his assigned room. It was for him and him alone. Steve appreciated the newfound privacy that Bruce had provided him with. He’d been told he was suffering with severe delusions, but the events of the past few hours were still with him clear as day. The strength that strange woman possessed, her anger... He didn’t understand why she was as enraged as she was, but he made a mental note, if he ever saw her again, not to piss her off.

She was beautiful as she was vengeful, Steve couldn’t help thinking. She was power and grace intertwined. Like a dark angel out of the books his mother kept, and didn’t know he sneakily read as a boy.

Was that a real memory? Or one he’d fabricated to fill the gaps? At the moment he was questioning if what he saw today was real or not. It was all too confusing. As he sat he winced, a white-hot pain shooting down the length of his back, from right shoulder blade to his hip. Pulling his shirt away, teeth clenched as his shoulder wrenched, he twisted slightly to angle his back towards the mirror opposite the bed. The full-length mirror revealed a scar, mauling the majority of Steve’s back. It spread from the bottom right; meandering out in twists and gnarls across his skin. It was deemed old by the doctors, but it felt fresh every night. He was tired of this. But maybe this woman was the person Bruce said might be able to help him. At this point, he’d take any help he could get. As Steve lay down to rest a while he found himself hoping she had been real. If she were, he would very much like to meet her again.


	3. Big Hand Twelve, Little Hand Three

After Bruce’s final remark, Diana left the conversation there. Falsely claiming she was tired, she rose from her seat and left the underground cave, and Bruce with it. She didn’t want to be around anyone at the moment. How could Steve not remember her - if this really was Steve? Who was she kidding? Bruce had made it clear: all evidence suggested it really was Steve, back from a century ago. 

Diana entered the spare bedroom, and closed the door behind her. It was made up beautifully, she assumed by one of Bruce’s staff – not that she ever saw staff –did he even have any? She quietly unpacked her things, questions inside her head reeling off one after another. How was he here? How did Steve not remember her? He didn’t even address her by name earlier; he’d had no clue who she was. Who she was to him. It hurt to think that she could finally have a second chance, but have it be snatched away before she could even realise it. She tried to shake these feelings off, and continued unpacking. She needed a plan on how to handle this, and raw emotion couldn’t come into it. 

Some time later, Diana wasn’t sure how long, there was a knock on her door. “Diana, it’s me.” Bruce called softly through the door. He didn’t sound defeated, more somewhat deflated. Perhaps he was as tired as her. “I know it’s been a rough day. I thought you might like something to eat. I’ll- I’ll leave it here in case you want anything.” Bruce seemed to understand her lack of a reply. Diana heard a soft thud, and footsteps fading as Bruce left her in peace. 

A few minutes later, she cracked the door open, peering out. There was a tray on the floor, which she quickly picked up and carried into her room, closing the door behind her. There were a number of things stacked onto a large plate, along with a fresh juice. Carrot sticks with tzatziki, tyropitakia, haloumi stuffed peppers, all Greek food. Or at least, whatever came up first on a Google search of Greek food. Diana appreciated the gesture, and bit into a carrot stick.

With her light dinner, she found herself perched on the edge of her bed with a pastry triangle in one hand and Steve’s watch in the other. Her thumb lightly traced over the clock’s face. She remembered the first time she’d held the watch cupped in her hands. She barely caught Steve’s ‘I love you’ before it was gone – _he_ was gone.

But he wasn’t gone, was he?

She frowned, thinking over Bruce’s words....

_‘A month or so ago.’_

She worked the numbers in her head. It was around a month ago that the watch had started to work again. It was either a very spooky coincidence, or the watch somehow knew its original owner was back. How could that have happened? 

It made Diana’s head hurt. There was so much she didn’t understand yet. The day had been long enough without her staying up all night attempting to answer the questions she couldn’t even begin to comprehend yet. She placed the tray on the writing desk and left the watch on the bedside table. Diana slipped under the covers, and lay on her side, giving the watch one last look. She had poured her heart into keeping that watch safe, and now its owner had returned. With a sigh, she turned over and was asleep in minutes. The day had taken its toll.

 

~*~

 

Bruce was already downstairs by the time Diana made her way into the kitchen the following morning. She brought the previous night’s tray with her, moving its contents to their proper places. “Let me do that. Coffee’s brewing.” Bruce suggested, rising from his stool behind the marble-topped island. Diana nodded, accepting the offer and poured herself a cup. She held the mug close, letting the warmth seep in. “So... You’ve told him I can help him?” Neither of them needed to ask to whom Diana was referring to. “I said I believed you may be able to, but if you don’t want to, I do understand. After all, I’ve no idea if you were even friends.” Bruce shrugged.

Diana quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t feign ignorance, I know you better than that. So how does this work? I tell him I’m the daughter of Zeus and we worked together a hundred years ago? Somehow I don’t think that’ll go down well.” It was Bruce’s turn to give her a bemused expression. “Neither do I. I think I should give fair warning, if you are willing to go with this. Today final testing will occur, and so far as I know the doctors will give Steve a clear bill of health. He won’t be able to stay at the health centre for much longer. _If_ you are willing to give this a try, I’m going to invite him to stay here. It’ll give him enough time to work out how the real world works before he’s on his own. In the meantime, you can work out... whatever it is you need to work out.” Bruce was choosing his words carefully, he seemed well aware of the precariousness of the situation. “I’ve organised for Alfred to take some time off, not that he’s all too pleased about that.” He and Diana shared a smirk.

Diana was quiet for a moment, before nodding. “All right. It gives me a chance to look into this further. Have you any ideas how he could be alive and unchanged?”

Bruce gave a noise of dissatisfaction. “Only a few guesses so far. Potentially cryogenics, embryonic experimentation recreating him, but they’re all pretty off the wall. I did probe into the possibility that the plane crash registered as cause of death – the stuff I got from the Brits – could have happened far north enough for him to have been frozen and dug up more recently, but to be honest that sounds nonsensical and far too convenient.” Bruce shrugged, it was clear things were coming up short. Diana mulled it over. “I can ask him a few questions, try and work out what he remembers. Will he be moving here today?”

Bruce nodded. “If he takes my offer, which I’m sure he will. Should be here by this afternoon.” Diana nodded, and thanked him for the coffee. She rose to leave. “Diana,” Bruce stopped her, an edge in his voice. “Tread carefully. He looks and sounds okay, but... I really don’t think he is. Just – be careful.” The concern was stated as if it were for Steve but they both knew Bruce was trying to look out for Diana too. He had orchestrated this, allowing them to meet again, but he had no idea of the magnitude of the situation. Diana planned to keep it that way for now.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, “I’ll be careful.”

 

~*~

 

As Bruce predicted, Steve was given a clear bill of physical health, and the private health centre declared there was no more they could do for him. Diana wasn’t sure how willing Steve actually was, but he had agreed to stay with Bruce until he could get back on his feet.

Diana was in the lounge, it was late afternoon, and she was curled up in a grey armchair that was far more comfortable than it looked. Steve had been coming and going for the last hour or so, Bruce directing him to his room, and generally sorting his affairs. Diana had wanted to keep an eye on the situation without being too obvious, so had left the door wide open – she pretended not to notice Bruce second guessing the door every time he entered or left the room.

She had been lurking for some time when she heard someone clearing their throat. She looked up from her book, noticing Steve hovering in the doorway.

“Hi. We met yesterday, didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself.” He was coming off somewhat sheepish, he clearly wasn’t frightened of Diana, but it was clear he was wary. He offered a smile that made Diana’s chest fill with heat but she pushed that down for now, politely smiling back. “I’m Steve Trevor,” he tried, having taken a few steps into the room and offering a hand. She took it. “Diana Prince.” She returned, noting the irony that that name was actually given to her by Steve. She nodded politely as Steve delicately sat on the adjacent sofa. Diana pretended not to notice his jaw twitch in pain.

“I apologise if I frightened you yesterday, I was caught unawares.”

Steve attempted to find words. “Scared? No- wasn’t scared, just... you’re really strong.” Diana shrugged, closing her book. “I do zumba.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She sat up straight in her seat, unsure of how much she wanted to tell Steve. Diana thought it best to keep her cards close to her chest for now. “So, Steve... Bruce told me you don’t remember much, before you were found?”

He shook his head, somewhat relaxing. Diana hoped he would feel at ease around her. “Uh- yeah. They said anything I can remember is likely something I’ve made up to compensate for... I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Your accent, I can’t place it? I’m normally quite good at that, do you mind me asking where you’re from?” Diana found the question strange. She had expected a few questions from Steve but that one threw her off a little. “Well, I currently live in France, but I’m from – quite a bit further away.” She shrugged it off. “Bruce asked me to stay a little while. I have work to do here. He mentioned you were to stay here until you started to feel better?”

Steve began to answer the question but cut himself off. “You like questions – oh, I get it now,” he smirked, leaning back in his seat. “You’re some kind of psychologist, right? And Bruce got you here to tinker around up here.” He gestured to his head, somewhat pleased with himself to have worked it out.

Diana could roll with that. It made her questions credible, so why not? “You got me.” She gave a polite smile. “I’m just going to try and ease you back into your memories. Work out what’s good in the ones you already have, and hopefully – as you said – tinker.” She’d gotten much better at lying since the last time she and Steve were together. Meanwhile Steve was still somehow the same. He was just Steve, how she remembered him in every way. Gentle, strong, and endearingly extraordinary all at once. She knew she had to help him. If this was the path to making him better, she would go down it no questions asked.

“So, I was wondering, what can you remember before coming here? Go as far back as you can.” She leant back, looking at Steve intently. “If you’re comfortable with doing so.” This way she could determine what exactly he knew, and maybe she could work out why he didn’t know her.

Steve frowned, thinking for a moment. “That’s the trouble. I can remember my whole life, everything. My name is Steven Rockwell Trevor, born on December 8th, 1890. I was raised in Washington State, became a captain for US Army Air Service 94th Aero Squadron. Went to Europe in 1916 and was working missions for the next two years. I can remember a lifetime, until summer 1918. Then, I wake up here. How can I remember that all so clearly? Have I just- made that all up?”

Diana stayed quiet for a moment. Either he was lying, or he was missing months of his memory. She was stiff enough in her seat as it was, ready to grab and hold Steve and never let go. This was so difficult, but she couldn’t spring it all on him at once. “I don’t want you to try and analyse anything for the moment, I can do that. I just want us to talk for now, is that okay?” Steve was very open about all this, probably because he thought she was a therapist. It felt wrong to take advantage, but Diana needed to know, and maybe she would be able to help. “Whether or not they are made up, to you, they are real. Am I correct?” Steve nodded. “Well, when we discuss your memories, let’s discuss them as if they were completely real, and you were somehow transported a hundred years into the future. Is that okay?” 

Steve didn’t reply at that, he seemed deep in thought. She didn’t want to overwhelm him, but needed to know. Curiosity was getting the better of her. “You say you can remember your whole life, can you remember friends, family? Things like that?” Steve nodded, a little more tense. “I can remember, my mom and dad passed when I was a teenager, an airplane crash. I’d always wanted to be a pilot before then, and it didn’t put me off. I’m not sure I had much more family than that. I can remember... I made some good friends during the war. Scottish guy I met on leave in Great Britain – red hair, very thick accent... Charlie! I remember Charlie, he was a sniper, could put away scotch too.” Steve’s smile faded. “I suppose he’d be dead now.”

Diana remembered Charlie’s passing. It was 1941, and Diana, luckily, was with him. He’d made a joke about her fussing over him again. Years of abuse had ravaged his body. Diana could remember him saying he was surprised he’d made it this long. ‘Of course, you don’t look a day over 1000,’ he joked, as Diana held his hand. He’d never allowed her to touch him, even though they stayed friends after the war. He was only 63 years old. She pushed away the memory, focusing her attention on Steve again. 

“I suppose he probably is. But it’s good that you remembered a friend.” She smiled encouragingly, a little hurt she was still unrecognisable to him. “You’ve done really well, Steve. It’s good that you can remember all this so well.” Steve nodded, seemingly brought down by the realisation that everyone he thought he knew would be long gone by now. Well, not everyone. “Thanks, Diana. I’m a little tired now, I’m gonna – think I’m just gonna turn in for the evening. Lots to think about.” He rose to leave, Diana watched him. “Steve,” she called before she could stop herself.

Steve turned around at the door, his eyes flitting to the cracked wood from the day before. He looked at her expectantly. Diana wanted to rush to him and kiss him and tell him... She swallowed it back. “We can talk again tomorrow?” Steve almost smiled, and hope started to rise in Diana’s chest again. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” He turned and left, unable to see the relief in Diana’s eyes. She completely deflated in her chair, emotionally exhausted. This was going to be so much harder than she thought.

When she retired to her room later that evening, she pulled her laptop open on the writing desk, composing a short, succinct email. If she was going to figure this out, she would need to lengthen her stay beyond the original week.

 

~*~

 

The next day, they met in the afternoon again. Steve was already more at ease around Diana, and she wanted it to stay that way. She’d decided to take a notebook into the lounge with her. If she could play the part, then maybe she and Steve could talk more, and she would know where to take this. She knew this had to be Steve, she could _feel_ him, but it still felt off. It was like a part of him was missing somewhere, back in 1918. She hoped she might be able to retrieve it.

Steve as much as admitted this during their conversation. “There’s something missing. I can remember this whole life, clear as day, and then there’s a load of fuzzy bits, and then waking up here.” Diana nodded, listening intently. She hoped against hope a memory of her was waiting in there. “Why don’t you talk me through it. The fuzzy bits, I mean. It might help you see things a little more clearly,” she suggested, gently encouraging him.

His brow creased, looking as if he needed to concentrate hard. “I know where things start to make less sense,” he started. “It was summer, I’d flown to... Turkey – I think. I was flying a plane. I don’t know why. I was... I don’t know. Adrenaline was rushing, I don’t know if I was scared or angry. I just know I needed to leave. I was flying. There are bullets whizzing past the cockpit, narrowly missing the wings. There was a jolt. It felt like the plane was about to combust there and then. I could see smoke coming from behind me. I could smell it, thick in the cockpit. Then...”

He paused. Diana leaned forward, so wanting to help him. “It’s all right. You’re doing well. Just say whatever you feel comfortable saying,” she tried. “Can you remember anything after that?”

Steve’s hands were tightly knotted together, as if they were now holding the joystick to the fighter plane. “It doesn’t make sense. The light keeps changing. It feel like there’s a thick fog but at the same time everything’s bright. It’s blue. It’s so bright my eyes hurt. There was this pain... in my chest, like my lungs were ready to explode. I think there’s shouting. It’s all jumbled from then. I try to make sense of it, there are bullets and everything’s grey and damp. I can smell mould and there’s dried blood on me. I don’t know if it’s mine.” Steve’s knuckles were starting to go white. Diana reached over, gently resting her hand over Steve’s own knotted fingers. He was staring down at nothing in particular in total silence. Neither of them moved. Soon, Diana felt Steve’s hands relax under hers. She stayed quiet. “There’s a face,” he began again. “Amongst it all there’s a face. I can’t... I can’t see it, but I know it’s there – I don’t think it makes much sense. It’s like it’s there, but too far away for me to really know what it is.”

Steve looked up, and Diana hadn’t realised how close she’d gotten. She was adding up everything he said in her head. His memory seemed to cut out just before they met. It felt so unfair. She wanted to admit that they knew each other. She wanted to scoop him into her arms and hold him and tell him he wasn’t crazy, that this was all real and things would be good again because they were together. She couldn’t let him go, not again.

“Thank you for telling me this, Steve.” She murmured, offering a comforting smile.

They stayed where they were for some time, connected by some invisible force. Diana realised that if she wanted this to work, she would need to restore Steve’s memories totally. She would do anything to get him back.


	4. Big Hand Six, Little Hand Four

Events carried on in this fashion over the next few days. Diana would have the morning to herself, and perhaps see Bruce in passing. He was rarely in the house for more than two hours, clearly busying himself with work. He was possibly trying to help by giving Diana plenty of space. In the afternoons she and Steve would meet in the lounge and chat. It was still somewhat surreal seeing Steve in modern clothes. He usually elected for neutral colours, greys and light browns. Diana had somehow expected him – whenever she’d allowed herself to fantasise about a meeting such as this – in uniform, or at least a number of layers against the bitter European cold. Now, he was in a cream jumper, jeans, and no shoes. It was odd and foreign to her, but Diana found herself rather liking it.

They’d never got the chance to do this the first time around, and Diana had to admit she was enjoying finding out about his life before the war. As it turns out Steve was picked on as a child, because he was a little smaller than other boys, but his mother had always comforted him, claiming he would be lighter in a plane and could whizz around the sky to his heart’s content. It was sweet, being let into this intimate part of Steve’s life. 

They were laughing right now, discussing a remembered event that took place in 1917. “We were in Birmingham, right? Big city in the middle of England, in the smallest, rowdiest bar you can imagine. Samy, Chief, and me are trying to relax, you know, enjoy a few drinks. Charlie was buying a round, and ten minutes passed, then twenty minutes. We’d lost him! He wasn’t in the bar, the bathrooms, take a wild guess where we found him?” 

Diana could see where this was going, but was enjoying herself. Through a genuine smile she pried. “Where?”

Steve had to work to get his words out through laughter. “Charlie had gotten himself mixed up with a call girl. She was high end, supposed to be meeting a duke or lord of some sort. She thought he was noble!” The two of them were laughing, Diana surprised that Charlie had managed to pass as a lord.

Their laughter died down, and Diana noticed Steve’s hands. His thumb was rubbing over his left wrist. “I feel like I’ve lost something.”

Diana frowned, sitting up in her seat more, giving Steve her full attention. “What do you mean, do you know what you’ve lost?” He was lost in thought for a moment. “My father had this watch. My grandfather had it before, and left it to him when he died. He’d always wanted me to have it. It’s weird I can remember it so clearly, you know? It had this brown leather strap, a large off-white face. I feel like, I don’t know if I had it or not... Does that make sense? Like I’m missing something I may never have had?”

Diana remained silent. What could she do? It felt wrong to keep it from him, but she was unsure if Steve would be able to deal with the truth yet. She couldn’t find the right way to word it.

Steve leant forward in his now usual seat on the sofa, frowning. “Are you okay?”

She shook it off, “yes, it’s very possible to have a memory of physical feelings. It makes total sense.” Of course it did, Steve had kept that watch until the day he died, when he gave it to her. “It’s very possible. Are you finding you’re having these feelings often?”

Steve looked down, it seems now it was his turn to struggle for words. “Um, there are other feelings too. Are you able to remember pain? I’ve got these- these marks on my back and-” Diana nodded, standing up. “Would you mind showing me?”

He looked apprehensive at first, but also rose. He turned away from her, and pulled his T-shirt up to reveal the scarring. It looked years old, but it certainly wasn’t there when she and Steve knew each other. It covered the majority of his back, starting at the bottom right. It snaked upwards across the length of his back, branching out into multiple strands. It was a multitude of colours, soft, bright pink flesh at the edges, which discoloured further towards the centre, where it was deep reddish purple and sinewy, where the skin had been gouged out to create these craters.

A sigh so small it could have been missed escaped Diana. She couldn’t imagine the pain Steve must be feeling with this dug into his flesh. This must have been what had killed Steve in the blast. It made sense, if he was flying the plane when it exploded. She feared she wouldn’t be able to find an explanation for the wound, as he didn’t yet know how he’d died, or that he’d died at all.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers barely grazing over the old wound.

She should have realised the mistake sooner. Steve flinched, and pulled away from her completely. He fell onto the sofa, propped up by his hands. He made an unintelligible noise of pain that Diana found hard to describe. She’d heard screams before, but coming from Steve’s mouth it hurt her so much more. She reached out to Steve, whose unseeing eyes pulled back from her, fear and pain evident. Diana crouched beside the sofa, grabbing at Steve’s hands. “Wait- look at me, Steve, look at me,” she tried, pulling back against his fear.

She didn’t know what he was seeing, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She only wanted to help.

Diana couldn’t work out what Steve was saying, but his shirt had ridden back down over his back. She gently cupped his face, her forehead pressed to his. She didn’t even know what she was saying anymore, anything to offer comfort, anything to make him feel safe. When the light came back into Steve’s eyes, he was gasping for breath. Diana was still close to him, hands gently pressed against his cheeks. She would give anything to stay this close. When Steve realised how close they were he jumped, pulling back. Diana rose to standing and took a few steps back. She kept her distance as Steve took in his surroundings again.

This was her fault. She’d done this.

“I’m sorry.” She breathed, unable to meet Steve’s eye. She’d only wanted to help. “We won’t meet tomorrow, if you do not want to.” Her voice wavered.

"That might be best," was all Steve could manage. A small well of pain dropped in Diana's stomach like a stone. She had offered, but hearing it hurt.

She turned away from Steve, guilt wracking through her body. She left the room, not wanting to see the anger she expected to see in Steve’s eyes.

 

~*~

 

They did not see each other for the next three days.

Diana couldn’t face it. She felt pure guilt, deep and aching in the pit of her stomach. Whenever she least expected it, the image of Steve’s fearful and pained face rushed into her imagination and she would flinch, trying to physically will the thought away. She’d pushed too far and had potentially shattered all trust she had built up with Steve. She’d stayed in her room the first day, unwilling to risk seeing Steve, Bruce, anyone. She stayed holed up, didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. God knows what Steve must have been feeling. She was sure he hated her now. How could he not?

She didn’t speak to anyone for a number of days, avoiding Steve at all costs, not listening to Bruce’s questions. She knew he would understand, and would stay out of things for now. Diana remained in her room for as long as she could, only revealing herself to eat. The adjoining bathroom made it easier for her to hole herself away.

This wasn’t worth it. Things were clearly hopeless. Diana was in the process of booking a flight back to France. It was evident that this little experiment of Bruce’s was failing. She leant back from her laptop, stretching out in the desk chair. Her eyes found their way to the clock. 4:38am. She rubbed her jaw, tired, but altogether restless. She pushed herself out of her seat, closing the laptop.

Diana decided to stretch her legs. She left her the solitude of her room and entered the kitchen, about to flick a light switch on. Only, she realised as she reached for the switch that it was already on. The kitchen was already lit up, but completely empty. Had Bruce forgotten to turn the lights off when he turned in? No, Diana was sure they turned off automatically if no life forms or heat signatures were read in the room – some Wayne Enterprises technology she’d read about. Slowly, and silently, she walked further into the room, her bare feet making very little sound against the tile floor.

She whipped around the corner of the island, braced for a fight when – none came.

Steve was sat on the floor, also barefoot, in light blue pyjamas. He had one knee pulled to his chest, the other leg stretched out. “Couldn’t sleep either?” He ventured, eyes dropping to Diana’s day clothes. She hadn’t bothered to change from today’s black pencil skirt and maroon jumper. “Or you didn’t even try. Don’t blame you,” Steve shrugged, shuffling a little across the floor. With his back still leant against the island, he gestured for Diana to join him. She was confused, but took the offer all the same. She folded down onto the floor, legs tucked to her chest. A beat passed between them.

“I am sorry,” she tried, well aware that Steve had his full attention on her now, but not looking back at him just yet. “I understand if you are hurt, or angry. I didn’t think about you, and I pushed too far. If you do not want to speak to me again, I do understand. 

She could see Steve watching her out of the corner of her eye, but was almost too afraid to analyse his reaction.

“If I didn’t want to speak to you again, do you think I would have asked you to sit with me?” 

Diana’s eyes met his, there they were, close again. Another beat. She wanted to kiss him again, it had been so long... She pushed it back. “Thank you,” she said softly, but meaning it entirely. Steve shrugged, playing it off rather quickly. Had he felt something too? “I like talking to you. I enjoy... it makes me feel good, feel better. Just don’t do it again okay?” There was an edge of playful banter behind his words. The word ‘relief’ didn’t cover what Diana was feeling. “Okay.” She smiled. He smiled.

They sat in contented quiet for some time, watching through the glass walls. The sun was on its way, the sky moving from pitch black to a deep royal blue, the stars fading one by one. It was quiet enough to hear the soft babbling of the water flowing beneath them, the mist beginning to rise from the lake. “I’ve been wondering,” Steve broke the silence, “what people do now. I’ve been trying to catch up, reading about all these new things, new technologies. There’s so much going on in the world now, I wonder what people do at this time anymore.”

Diana stretched her legs out, attempting to compose an answer. “Well, at night it seems we are all similar. It’s nearly five in the morning, and people are usually only up because they’re with friends, at a party, crying, having sex...” Her mind wandered for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. “It’s a little early, but sometimes they’ll have breakfast.” 

Something flickered behind Steve’s eyes, and a small swell of hope rose in Diana before he spoke. “Then let’s make breakfast,” he announced. Something had switched on inside, Steve, it seemed he really did genuinely accept Diana’s apologies. “Pancakes! You know when the last time I had pancakes was?” Before Diana could reply Steve was already on his feet, opening and closing cupboards on the hunt for flour. She had to admit, she was amused. “When?”

“1913.” He joked, pulling out a frying pan. 

Diana stood, leaning against the island. She was watching as Steve pulled out flour, eggs, and milk from assorted areas in the kitchen. She’d always found him fascinating, and now even more so. Not that she needed it, but this was a moment to completely reaffirm it. She loved him. If only she’d had the chance to say it when he first told her... she brushed it away, noting she that was becoming a more than common occurrence in her life. “What can I do to help?” She offered, pulling a large bowl – big enough for mixing – and placing it on the counter.

“You mix up some batter while I sort out the pan.” Steve instructed, sliding the eggs her way. Diana grabbed an egg and paused. Her hand hovered over the bowl. Steve paused his buttering on the pan when he noticed. “Everything all right?” There was genuine concern there. Diana breathed out a little huff of amusement. “I’ve never made pancakes before.” Somehow, in a hundred years of living in this world, she had never cooked pancakes. Steve smiled, seemingly relieved nothing was really wrong. “Okay, I’ll do the batter, just need you to oil and heat up the pan.”

This was... new. It was a new side to Steve that Diana had never come across. He was playful, and sincere. With a joking “go team go!” he whisked up the batter as hard as he could, and with every new mess he made he promised, “I’ll clean it up,” only to continue making the mess. Diana was laughing, genuinely enjoying herself. They were talking with no ulterior motives, no apprehension, they were just enjoying each other’s company. 

“So, you haven’t really told me much about yourself.” Steve mused, pouring out some of the mixture into the pan. “We talk about me a lot, but that isn’t really me. So why don’t you tell me about yourself?” He seemed genuinely interested. Diana shrugged. “There’s not a lot to tell, I live in Paris, I have done for some time. Um, that’s about it.” _Oh, and I’m an Amazonian Warrior who fought at your side a century ago, and you’re the love of my life._  

Steve jostled her, “come on, there’s more than that. What about family, any brothers or sisters? A boyfriend... or girlfriend? I heard that was more popular now...” He pressed, fishing for information. She shook her head. “No siblings, no boyfriend, _or_ girlfriend.” She quickly made the excuse. “I like my own space.” Steve wasn’t done yet. He was determined to get something non-generic from her. “Considering you talk for a job, you’re not a fan, are you? What about a mom and dad? Most people have at least one of those.”

Diana concentrated on the pancake sizzling in the pan. “My father died before I was born, and my mother lives very far away. I haven’t seen her for some time.”

Steve paused, the joking tone had left his voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. That wasn’t- ah, damn. That was poor form.” Diana shook her head, a slightly forced smile. “No, it’s fine. My mother and I parted amicably, it’s just difficult to keep contact with such great distance.” She looked up, once again enthralled by those blue eyes. Considering how much she had to hold back, it was easy to talk to Steve. She could see the cogs ticking away in his head. “Well, you know, I’m feeling mostly better recently. I don’t even know if Bruce is paying you. You don’t have to stick around here with me all the time, I’m sure it’ll get boring soon. Why don’t you use the time to go visit her?” He suggested, seeming to take on the role of therapist now. Diana smiled. “I would like that. But for now, my focus is getting you completely better, not mostly better.”

After that the conversation moved on to lighter topics, how Diana had met Bruce (the extremely censored version) amongst other fun stories of their experiences. It was so easy for them to connect, almost anticipating what the other would say. It was easy to build a rapport.

The pancakes were burnt to a crisp. It was a total disaster, the fire alarm nearly went off, but they managed to salvage one miniscule, lightly singed pancake. They were enjoying themselves nonetheless. Steve cut up the one edible pancake, and they shared, tapping the two halves together in a well-earned ‘cheers.’ 

Steve brushed his face with a hand, leaving a long white stripe of flour up his cheek. Diana couldn’t help but laugh. “What?” Steve smirked, unoffended but ignorant to his new look. “You have-” Diana started, but found it easier to show. She wiped a small section of the flour from his cheek, the residue building on her thumb.

She’d fully intended to show Steve the flour but she found her hand wasn’t moving. Their eyes met. This felt so familiar and foreign all at once. Steve leaned millimetres closer, foreheads brushing against one another as they got reacquainted – at least for Diana. This would be entirely new for Steve. Why was she hesitating? She’d longed for this, and here it was, presented right in front of her on a silver flour-covered platter. For the moment they were just taking each other in. They could feel each other’s breath against their faces, so close it would be so easy to steal a kiss. Steve was familiar and warm. Diana wanted to return to him so much she physically ached. It felt like a silver lining was draping over them, shielding them from the rest of the world. Once again, it was just Diana and Steve, and no one else.

“Morning.”

Alfred’s gruff call and the loud ‘thud’ of him dropping a bag full of god-knows-what made Diana nearly jump out of her skin. Steve quickly hopped back, creating a safe we-weren’t-just-about-to-kiss distance between the two as the older man entered the kitchen. “Ah, Ms Prince. Good to see you again.” Alfred was curt as usual, but always genuine when greeting Diana. She smiled, pleased to see him, despite the stone that dropped in her stomach at the thought of a lost moment.

Alfred pretended not to notice the mess, or the atmosphere. “You must be Steve,” he offered a firm handshake which Steve took in good faith. “I’m Alfred, Master Wayne’s Go-To and general slave. I’ve heard you’ll be staying with us a while.” Steve returned the polite smile. “Good to meet you, sir.” Steve was rather showing his age, but Diana noted Alfred seemed impressed. A beat hung in the air, the atmosphere now altered from wonderful to completely awkward.

Steve turned to the obvious problem, the mess. “Ah, I’ll tidy this up and get out of your hair, should probably try and sleep before the sun comes up.” He went to grab the mixing bowl but Diana beat him to it. “I’ll do it. You go. Rest.” Steve was about to argue, “I insist.” Diana pressed, a half smile gracing her face. Steve looked between her, the mess, and Alfred. It seemed to click that maybe he was about to intrude conversation not for his ears. “Okay- I’ll, um. Be in my room. If you need anything.”

The moment he was gone Diana deflated. She’d had the chance to come clean, to take action, to kiss him, to do something. Anything other than what she had done. She dumped the burnt pancakes into the bin, and began scrubbing at the burnt pan. “Boy trouble?” Alfred pried, a small smirk playing across his features. “You don’t know the half of it.” Diana admitted. It felt good to talk to someone honestly. She could see why Steve liked it.

Alfred shook his head, piling the bowl and other utensils into the machine. “Master Wayne told me he was supposedly an old friend of yours, but I’m thinking something more along the lines of old flame.” He was giving Diana a knowing look, but she kept scrubbing at the pan, a little more violently this time. “A very old, old flame.” Alfred continued. “Forgive my intrusion, I think you can understand my concerns. Bruce doesn’t have much in the way of family anymore, but he’s grown rather fond of you this past year.” There was Alfred’s excuse to get Diana talking, and she knew it. She decided against fighting it. 

“Well – it’s all so complicated, Alfred. I met Steve a hundred years ago – a hundred years ago! He literally crashes into my life and we have this whirlwind adventure, like the ones you read in books. He goes and kills himself and I’m left stewing for the next century.” She was talking faster and faster as she went, the frying pan feeling her full wrath. “I spent so many days wanting to see him again, so many nights dreaming of it and then just when things start to get better for me he bursts in again and comes to crash his way through my life all over again and I can’t even talk about that because he has no clue who I am or that we ever met or that his life before was even-” 

Diana had scrubbed a hole right through the pan. When she realised what she’d done, she turned to Alfred, embarrassed. “No matter. It was old anyway.” He gently took the pan from her soapy hands and disposed of it. “Feel better?” He smiled, in a fatherly way. He seemed to play that figure in a number of people’s lives. Diana nodded. She had been alone with her thoughts so much recently, that she had pushed back everything and denied it with such venom that to let it all release now felt cleansing. She felt more like herself again. She was more in control.

“Thank you, Alfred. You’re very easy to talk to.”

He returned the smile. “That’s my job. But for you, dear, I’ll listen anytime.”


	5. Big Hand Twelve, Little Hand Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I last updated! Things should be getting really exciting soon, thanks for sticking around!

“Let’s go out.”

Diana was taken aback but Steve’s proposal. “What?”

Steve shrugged, already stood up. “I haven’t seen much of the world since it changed. I keep imagining it the way I’d expect it to be, but I know I’m guessing wrong. Let’s go out to the city.” He suggested. Diana was studying Steve’s behaviour, there seemed to be no awkwardness between them, despite the previous morning’s antics. It was early afternoon now, but Steve didn’t seem to be holding anything against her. In fact, he was prepared to go out for the day – with her. “Come on, if I don’t go out with you, I’ll have to go with Bruce, and I’m certain there won’t be anything fun to do – not till at least midnight, I’m sure.”

Diana scoffed, “you don’t know the half of it.”

She stood, nodding. “All right then. Let’s go see the city.”

 

~*~

 

In the following hours the two had taken a car to Gotham’s city centre, and had seen just about everything one could imagine exisisting in a modern city. Steve seemed to take great pleasure in exploring the littlest of things. A plane had flown low over the city, and Diana listened as Steve explained how his usual planes worked, and took guesses as to how they had evolved from the looks of the silhouette. He still found cars a marvel. Google was another shock. “So you can just type into this phone – that somehow goes in your pocket with no cables – and it tells you the answer to everything?” Diana had showed Steve all this on her own phone, finding her own joy in Steve’s wonder of this new world.

It reminded her of their first day in London. Was this how Steve felt when she was learning about the world? It was strange, learning new things but repeating an old activity, just the other way around. However, today was much brighter, and warmer. In face, they were sitting quietly on a park bench, with ice cream cones, but the feeling of deja vu was still uncanny.

“It’s good to know a few things are the same. Ice cream’s the same.” Steve proclaimed, watching passers by with a great deal of intrigue. “I think people are the same, mostly.” He commented as a group of children ran past kicking a ball. Diana watched as a couple walked past holding hands. It was a sign they were together. Steve had taught her that. She wanted to grab his hand, especially after the moment in the kitchen early that morning. They hadn’t spoken of it, but Diana couldn’t get it out of her head. They’d been so close, Diana could still feel his warmth if she imagined hard enough. It had felt familiar and safe, like returning home after a storm. She wanted to be that close again, and soon.

Quiet had fallen between them again, but this time it felt less contented. Steve started to talk at least three times, but faltered with each try. Diana had finished her ice cream, and turned in her seat to face him. “What is it?”

He waved it off, “I was just wondering how things could have changed so much so quickly. It’s like walking on an alien planet.” Diana laughed, she could relate to that.

After some time people-watching, they made their way through the city, wandering aimlessly. It allowed plenty of time for Steve to take in the surroundings. They walked past an electronics store, the window filled with fifty or so Technicolor screens. He watched in awe. “How do they get it like that? It looks like you’re really there. They spent a short while inside, Steve picking up every gadget he could, trying to understand how it worked. “How is it so small?” He mused, turning a phone over in his hand, as if it would suddenly reveal its secrets.

“I imagine it’s quite the culture shock.” Diana pondered, remembering her own first days in this world. She was enjoying herself, her time with Steve. There was no expectation here. Right now they could just watch the world go by together. She imagined maybe this would have been their life if the war hadn’t happened. But then, if the war hadn’t happened, Diana would probably still be in Themyscira, and she and Steve would have never met. She didn’t want to think about that, it would spoil the mood.

Not long after they hailed a cab to drive them back to the house. They sat next to each other in the back seat, Steve watching the world go by. He started to shuffle in his seat, Diana noticed.

“This morning... I don’t think that should happen again.” Something was off in Steve’s remark, he seemed genuinely sorry to be saying it. Diana’s face fell, confusion setting in before she’d really had time to process what was happening. It felt so _wrong._ It wasn’t like Diana had even kissed Steve, and they had shared a kiss before. They had shared much more, and the day after there had been no awkward air, no refusal to accept feelings. What had changed? Did this Steve for some reason not want to love her?

“What do you mean?” 

Steve took a moment, Diana’s chest growing tighter with each silent second. “I mean- don’t get me wrong, I really, um, enjoyed this morning. I would like to – anyway, the relationship we have. Isn’t there meant to be some sort of confidentiality, professional agreement? I just don’t want you to get into trouble. That’s not fair. If something went wrong, or you lost your job... I just wouldn’t want to do that.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Right.” Diana shrank in her seat. She turned away, pointedly looking out the window. It felt like she’d been walking on air for most of the afternoon, and now she was sinking back down to reality with a resounding thud. “That’s understandable.” But it wasn’t, it wasn’t understandable in the slightest. If this had been a century ago, she would have fought him, would have refused to accept a rule could keep them apart - a rule that didn't even really apply to them! She wanted to shake him, tell him it was all a lie and spill every secret she had kept from him since she'd met him again. Maybe when they'd first met, she would have. She had learned when to lie since then, and it burned bitter on her tongue. Keeping quiet would be the most 'sensible' option, but now it was becoming cruel. What could she do? They had _loved_ each other. Diana had loved Steve for a hundred years and he was rejecting her over a lie? There were no consequences if they loved one another. But of course, Steve didn’t know that, and he was too good to want to put Diana’s falsified career in jeopardy. To him, Diana was a professional who was there to ease his transition into normal life, not a warrior goddess who had loved him since the moment she pulled him out of the sea.

She nodded, grateful the cab was pulling up outside the house. “Of course. We will keep things professional from now on. It’s good that’s clear.” She wordlessly went into the house, closely followed by Steve. She kept her face turned away. She didn’t want him to know how hurt she was.

 

~*~

 

That night a gang was reported to be attacking a bank in Gotham City. Bruce called on Diana to assist him take them out, and – in all honesty – she needed the distraction.

The attackers were a gang of Joker wannabes, complete with badly dyed streaky green hair, poorly done tattoos, and purple outfits. They were easy enough to get rid of. So much so Bruce was able to strike up conversation, clearly noting Diana’s tension.

“So, boy trouble?” He pressed, holding up a goon with one arm and punching him across the room with the other. Diana rolled her eyes, while whipping her lasso from under another one’s feet. “Why does everyone keep asking that?” She answered with her own question, drawing her sword from its sheath. Bruce laughed, continuing to batter through assailants. “You’ve been in a foul mood since you got back from your – sorry, your not-date.” He’d been corrected before.

Diana raised her brows. “Have I? Well maybe if someone you thought loved you snubbed you, you – would – feel – foul – too.” Each word was punctuated with a punch aimed right in the gut of one ‘joker’ with particularly horrendous makeup. When finished, she threw him into the corner where the incapacitated bodies were piling up.

“I see where you’re coming from now, so what’s changed? Has he discovered Tinder?” Diana rolled her eyes, shooting a glare. “You’re in a rather cheery mood tonight, _Batman_ , very uncharacteristic of you.” Her lasso wrapped around a solid gold brick, which now appeared to glow as it was whipped out of one gang members hand and cracked into another’s head. “It’s not funny," she continued. "He wants to stay professional; he thinks I’ll lose my job. What job? Oh yes, the job he assumes I had and if I now tell him the truth any hope of him trusting me will be gone.” Her concentration waned just long enough for one to get a head-butt in, knocking her off her feet. Without thinking, she crossed her arms in front of her to protect herself, and a pulsing energy surged out of her. Her assailant was knocked back, along with every other person in the bank lobby, including Bruce.

She stood, taking a beat to gather herself. She reached down for her sword, and placed it back in its sheath, and slotted her shield back on her arm. She found Bruce, and pulled him to his feet. “Sorry about that.” She muttered, not as sorry as she usually would have been. They turned to leave, their job done and ready for the police to take over, when Diana hurt a muffled beep. She whipped around, just in time to see one semi conscious man slide a bomb across the floor. Ten seconds. It was large enough to take out the bottom floor of this bank, and the packed restaurants and bars on either side on the street. Bruce was closer to it, and picked it up, Diana grabbed it, and ran outside through the spinning doors – which were now a breeze to her.

6 seconds. Pushing off the concrete, she jumped into the air as high as she could, clearing a number of stories and leaving cracks along the floor in her wake. She threw it directly up with all her might. It cleared the tops of the skyscrapers, and Diana just had enough time to cover Bruce – who had followed her out – and shield the two of them before the blast went off. The sky glowed orange for a few seconds, and smoke billowed around the tops of the skyscrapers. Some glass windows were shattered on the top floor of one building, but it was only windows, and more importantly, they would all be empty at this time of night.

The police had put tape up outside the entrance of the bank now, and some members of the public were scraping to get a look at the heroes. Many were not only used to – but also scared of the Bat of Gotham. Diana was less well known here, and more of a spectacle to passers by. Phones were out, photos flashing. She didn’t notice any of this, as Diana was too busy looking into the sky, watching as the remnants of the blast spread through the sky. It was too familiar.

“You wanted to know what was wrong with me?” She started, her eyes never leaving the sky. “That.” Without another word, she turned into an alley and disappeared from view.

 

~*~

 

Diana ambled into the house, in a daze as she ripped pieces of armour off her body. She wanted it off, she wanted the heavy feeling of duty to leave her. Beneath the metal armour plating she wore a linen tunic the wrapped around her body. She had made it to her room, and threw the armour into a pile on the floor. She was tired. She would put it away later. She pulled the tunic over her head, and lay on her bed for a moment, exhausted. Sprawled out sideways across the double bed, she contemplated going to sleep there and then. She was so tired, emotionally and physically. She didn’t know if she could keep this up if Steve were to reject her so.

Before sleep could take her, Diana’s stomach demanded attention. It had been a long time since those ice creams earlier in the day. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the bed, grabbing a silk dressing gown that was hooked at the back of the door. Wrapping it around her body and tying at the waist, she left for the kitchen.

She didn’t bother to turn the light on, as the light from the night sky through the glass walls provided enough. She silently poured herself a glass of water, and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. She would just eat this and go to sleep, she could consider her options in the morning. She padded barefoot to the seating area, feeling around the edge of the sofa. She flopped down.

The sofa beneath her shouted loudly and moved.

With a yelp of shock, Diana jumped back up, water spilling everywhere. She was ready to fight back whatever had followed her home, when she recognised the yelling voice. “Wait- wait!” The lamp on the side table was lit, and Steve’s face was revealed in the soft yellow light. He sat up on the sofa, having been previously stretched out directly where Diana had attempted to sit. Her heart was still pounding from the shock, and she looked down at the drink she’d spilled everywhere, the apple had been dropped and had rolled away somewhere.

Utterly confused, she stepped away from the sofa. “What the hell are you doing out here?” She looked around the room for her apple, irrationally annoyed that Steve had denied her something else. He pulled the blanket up to his chest, revealing cotton pyjama bottoms, but no shirt. “I couldn’t- why are you so dirty?” 

Diana was about to snap back at his question, until she stopped to think. She’d just been trawling Gotham City fighting countless criminals. She looked at her hands, realising she was smeared with dirt, and cuts were littered over her body. The adrenaline was fading, and she began to feel a sting on her cheek. Raising her hand to it, she found blood had been drawn. Her hair was sticking in the blood smear. How fantastic. She huffed, annoyingly. “Nothing. I’m fine. Go to bed.” She left the apple to its mysterious hiding place, and started to walk away. 

“No, wait. Let me help. It looks nasty.”

Diana turned, frowning. What did he want from her? She felt her feelings were being pushed left right and centre with Steve. Did he want to be her friend, stay professional, or be more? He seemed to keep changing his mind, and she was getting rather frustrated with it. She couldn’t understand it. Steve took a few steps nearer to her, his eyes gently pleading. He just wanted to help. Silently, Diana motioned for him to follow. They went to the bathroom that was connected to Diana’s room. Steve didn’t question the pile of metal and leather on the floor, or he didn’t notice. Flicking on the switch, she turned to Steve in the harsh light. Steve nodded, and indicated for Diana to sit on the closed toilet seat as he reached into the cupboard below the sink. It seemed Steve had worked out that bathrooms had the same small emergency kit. He pulled out the bag, grabbing some cotton swabs and soaked them in antiseptic. “It’ll sting,” he warned as he gently dabbed it over the cut on Diana’s face. She hissed on the initial bite, but slowly ignored it. They remained silent for a moment.

“What happened – did someone hurt you?” Concern laced his voice. It broke Diana’s heart to be so close, to be worried about, but it still wasn’t the same as before. “No,” she answered, “I just went out. Tripped and landed on a dumpster, you know how it is. Late nights and heels don’t mix.” It was a shoddy excuse and Steve picked up on that. “You don’t seem like the clumsy type,” he frowned, but didn’t press any further, though Diana guessed the spy in him would be curious. She stayed still as he gently cleaned the gash, and searched for any more cuts that would need seeing to. He came up short. He pulled out some gauze and cut it. “I’m sorry if I upset you.” He murmured, knowing Diana could hear perfectly well with how close they were.

He sounded genuine, which made it all the more worse. He was as close to her face as he’d been in the early hours of the morning. He was looking at her again, and the expression in those eyes was so familiar. Out of anything that could have happened next, what did happen was unexpected.

“Get out.”

She watched as Steve’s face fell. She looked away, unable to go through with it if she didn’t. She was hurt and embarrassed for the second time today. “Get out, please.” She remained polite, but forcibly so. Her face felt hot, eyes burning. Steve stammered, “I don’t-”

“Get out!” There was a bite to her voice this time. Steve didn’t have to be told a third time. Closing up the bag, leaving the utensils on the side of the sink, he left the bathroom. Diana heard his footsteps towards the door, noted a falter, but the steps continued and the door closed. 

Only then in full privacy could Diana allow tears to spill over the brim. Hand over her mouth, she gasped. She suddenly felt the weight of everything fall on her. She stifled a sob as her thoughts wracked around her head, gasps reverberating in the walls. She had always known love in her life, her loving mother, her aunt, and an entire island of Amazons who had loved their goddess-child dearly. Steve had taught her more, taught her to believe in great love and joy. Steve was her great love. She’d read about it and seen it in countless films and Steve was _it._  However, the films seem to neglect the sorrow, the pain that was mounting upon her now. They’d loved one another a century ago, but now the world had changed.

They _both_ had changed.

She remembered their last meetings to the nth degree, having played them in her head over and over for so many years. She could remember his lasting impression. _It’s about what you believe. Believe in love._ She had believed in love for so long, but it seemed her beliefs recently had brought her nothing but grief. Getting her hopes up that Steve would be hers once more had proved pointless. She didn’t know where she stood anymore, one moment he was close enough for her to reach out and grab, and the next he pushed her away. The thought of it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her usual optimism was growing weary. Either Steve didn’t want to accept his feelings for her, or there were no feelings at all. Maybe that’s why he had no memories of her, she wasn’t important enough to him to be worthy of note. At that thought, her body wracked in a sob, slipping from the seat onto the floor. The cold tiles pulled away any warmth left in her, making her feel more isolated.

But it didn’t make sense. The last thing he’d said to her before he died... He’d said he loved her. Heat erupted from Diana’s skin, power surging from her in her sorrow. This was one of the few times she’d allowed herself to feel sorry for her situation. Hands pressed hard over her face, all these thoughts flittered through her mind at a break-neck speed, unable to comprehend anything fully. The heat continued to grow in her, feeling she may vomit or explode. Neither of those instances happened. Instead, the mirror on the opposing wall shattered. The crash was loud enough to bring her out of her misery. Her throat hurt, an unbearable pressure in her head. The shattered glass littered the floor, and Diana could hardly bear to look at the fragments of her own shattered image in the scattered pieces.

Diana felt like she must be going mad. She was losing herself steadily over this. Bruce was right, she was acting different, and she _felt_ different. Cynicism had overtaken her thoughts, and controlled her actions, which was proven about five minutes ago. 

Turning away, she decided to seek the comfort of her bed. She curled up, still in the dressing gown. A few more tears dampened the pillowcase as she came to her decision. Her face was expressionless, exhausted and drawn.

She would have to leave. It was hopeless. Steve’s memories of her were gone, and there would be no way to convince him of the truth after this whole psychologist charade. Why had she been stupid enough to go with that in the first place? She’d never liked lying, and now look where it had gotten her. She couldn’t help Steve; he didn’t need it. He would be fine in the world on his own, resilient Steve fully capable of adapting to his new environment, this had always been about Diana needing him. Maybe they were never meant to be together. Something had always gotten in the way, and now Diana could see why. Great loves never lasted long, and she would have to accept it.

She didn’t think she would be getting much sleep tonight.


	6. Big Hang Six, Little Hand Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not even sorry for leaving you on a sadness chapter (just kidding I am very sorry) and your comments are honestly amazing it really means a lot to me! Diana is a hot mess here but I promise it's never sad for long! Enjoy the next chapter!

The following day, Diana was restless. The previous night’s antics had helped work out her frustrations, but she felt trapped in the house with Steve. Alfred had picked up on her unusually frosty demeanour, but hadn’t pried. She’d announced her plans to leave to Bruce, and explained she felt she’d done all she could for Steve. He didn’t comment on her sudden upheaval, but instead planned to fill her day with activity.

“I’ve been invited to an art charity gala. Auction with a bunch of antiques, charity, open bar, you get the idea.” Bruce suggested to Diana that afternoon. “I could do with your knowledge in all things old and beautiful, if you’re willing.” Diana narrowed her eyes in a smirk, seeing right through it. “So, you want me on your arm to play flavour of the month so you’ll be flirted with less?” Bruce shrugged, “I was hoping you’d tell me what was genuine and what was fake, but if you want to hang on my arm and look gorgeous to scare off other women for the evening, be my guest.”

So the plan was set. It wasn’t often Diana went out into the world with Bruce in the spotlight. It was odd, all through that evening she watched as Bruce adopted the ‘Wayne Rich Kid’ mask for willing spectators. Bruce was now in a dinner suit, bow tie and all, while Diana was wearing a floor-length golden gown, backless and elegant. They had sipped champagne all evening, arms interlinked, listening to story after story – all of them boring. Bruce laughed amicably, and Diana followed, accepting compliments from older, disgustingly rich men who came across as more leering than admiring. She pretended to whisper sweet nothings into Bruce’s ear every so often, but insulted a number of people they were pretending to like. Every time, Bruce’s laugh would be genuine. She was beginning to forget about the previous night, what was waiting for her at Bruce’s home. The man she loved, but clearly wasn’t able to love her back.

They were currently being called over by a portly gentleman who just about fit in his suit, although the bow tie did look ready to ping off in a gentle breeze. “Jeffrey Brookes, old money in the UK,” Bruce muttered in Diana’s ear as they went over. “He’s been trying to break America, but so far unsuccessful. He’s pretty desperate for it now Britain has detached itself from the European Union.” He quickly altered his expression to an endearing smile, taking another two champagne glasses from a passing waiter for Diana and himself. “Ah, Jeffrey! Back from over the pond! How’re things?”

“So, so,” he guffawed, eyes on Diana. “Bruce, aren’t you going to introduce me to this lovely lady with you?” Bruce remained silent, well aware that Diana would handle herself. “Diana Prince, Mr Brookes, it’s lovely to meet you.” She offered her hand, which he took and gave what was meant to be a gentle kiss. Her face remained amicable as white moustache hairs bristled over her skin. She also noted the expression on his wife’s face, unimpressed with Brookes’ ogling. She smiled kindly to the wife; maybe she wouldn’t be as tiresome. 

Brookes’ eyes widened as she spoke. “How exotic! I can see how you convinced her to attend with you, Bruce.” He joked, hoping for solidarity. “Well actually, Diana here has worked at the-”

But Brookes wasn’t listening. His eyes were only on Diana. “You know, he may be rather well-off financially, but I’m sure you could do much better during your stay in the States. The Miss World starts in New York next week, you must be visiting to represent... Where are you from?” When Diana didn’t know how to answer, he laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m only joshing! You really could compete though, something to seriously consider career-wise! Honestly, Bruce, you pick up these women from all over! Always have said you never were one to settle, or grow up for that matter! I believe I heard yet another supercar was smashed last week?” Bruce laughed and shrugged it off. “Well, I do like to live dangerously, Jeffrey. You know me!” Diana decided in that moment she absolutely loathed this man. In that same moment she somewhat pitied Bruce for feeling the need to play along. 

For the first time he turned to his wife when she spoke up. “Darling, that vase over there is quite lovely. Perhaps we should go take a look?” Brookes seemed perturbed at the idea of leaving Diana attempting to reassure his wife there would be plenty of time to see everything. His wife – who Diana then realised, she hadn’t even been told the woman’s name – wasn’t impressed. They quickly said their goodbyes and turned, going to the edge of the room to inspect the auction lots.

Diana held the champagne glass firmly, frustration built inside her. She turned to Bruce. “How do you put up with this?” He looked at her frankly, revealing his own feelings. “You just have to. I do apologise for some of the remarks he made to you. He’s from another generation.”

“Are you forgetting I spent quite a bit of time with that generation?” She queried, turning to watch where they’d gone. She eyed up the vase, and smirked, a plan unfolding.

She marched over to the table, widening her eyes to her best doe-eyed expression. Once in earshot of the older couple, she gasped. “Oh my god!”

As Brookes was turning, she tottered to the table, beaming. “This vase! Forgive me; I’ve worked at the Louvre for eight years and- wow! Do you know what this is?”

They shook their heads.

“This is part of the collection of the Pharaoh’s Lost Garden! In approximately 450 AD, Artaxerxes the First – Pharaoh of Egypt _and_ the King of Persia – was known for this beautiful garden. It was meant to be 500 acres across! In paintings it was shown to be decorated with a number of vases, statues, and beautiful art. A hundred years or so later, there was an attack on Egypt and it was thought to be all destroyed. This vase matches those depicted in the paintings! It must be a part of the fabled Lost Garden. Do you have any idea how much this is worth?”

They again shook their heads.

She gasped with flair. “This has to be worth millions – no, _billions_ – of US dollars! It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe it. Do excuse me, I have to call my boss!” And with that she turned and marched straight back to Bruce, leaving the couple wide-eyed and mouths gaped. 

Bruce’s expression was clearly confused, taking her arm again as she joined him. “Was any of that real?”

“God, no. The Pharaoh was a real person at the real time, but there’s no such thing as a Lost Garden.” She smirked, proud of having gotten a little of her own back. “I made it up. That vase is worth a hundred dollars, nothing more.” Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Mark me down as impressed. I thought you weren’t a fan of lies?”

She shrugged. “I’m not, but sometimes they’re worth it. The money he’ll waste will go to charity, anyway.” She took a rather large sip from her glass. She hadn’t touched alcohol in the entirety of her time in Man’s World. They could never compare to the sweet wines of Themyscira, and their use was far more dangerous here. She ignored Bruce’s frown. At functions like this they would hold a glass for appearances, but had no need to drink. To him, this was new. The fizz hurt her nose.

Depositing her now empty glass onto a tray, Diana and Bruce found themselves in a section of the museum with a large band playing jazz. “Let’s dance,” Bruce suggested, pulling Diana into the centre of the crowd of dancing groups and couples. Keeping up appearances could be fun after all.

_‘This is not dancing. This is swaying.’_

Diana ignored the pressing memory, and joined Bruce to dance. She sighed. “I appreciate the distraction, by the way. Thank you.” Bruce shrugged, implying it was no bother. Diana appreciated him looking out for her, and liked to imagine that if the Amazons were men too, she would like to have someone like Bruce as a brother.

“You’ve made the night more entertaining, so I’m grateful for the company.” They danced for a short while, ignoring the stares from other people who wished they had different dance partners. Something was irking Diana, Bruce seemed uncomfortable.

“What is it?” She continued dancing, but this time was watching Bruce’s face carefully. Nothing would get past her. He seemed to search for words. “Something’s off. With you – I mean. Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m just... concerned.” Diana felt something lodge in her throat, unable to swallow it down. “I don’t need your concern.” There was a hint of venom in her voice, but only defensively so. She pulled away from Bruce’s hold, and swiftly exited the dance floor, Bruce hot on her heels. She found herself outside, on a balcony of sorts, overlooking a darkened garden. The air was fresh out here. She could think more clearly.

Bruce was at the opening before she had a moment to herself. “Diana,” he started, tilting his head slightly to meet her eyes. “I know something’s wrong. You’re behaving strangely, tricking other people, looking for conflict... Alfred’s concerned too, it’s not just me,” he reasoned. “I don’t think you should leave like this.”

Diana didn’t say a word. She was tense enough as it is, and felt attacked. The silence stewed on.

“I know you love him.” Bruce admitted softly. His words weren’t accusing, they were more caring than that. Diana wasn’t having any of it.

“What do you know?” She turned to him, ashamed that her voice wavered. “Who are you to criticise my behaviour? You’re a walking, talking hypocrite. You lie to everybody, convince the world you’re nothing but a rich playboy and you allow people to twist you to fit the narrative! It’s utter nonsense, and you know it.” Regretting every cruel word as it left her mouth, she turned away again, her body tensed from head to toe.

Bruce didn’t reply at first. He leant against the balcony wall, hands in the pockets of his suit.

“I suppose I am a hypocrite. It’s easier to allow everyone to believe what they want to believe. You may be trying to believe that this is who you are and that running away from him will save you, but I think you and I both know better than that.” He spoke frankly to her now, and Diana still appreciated that, despite the painful subject matter. “I understand why you’re doing it, though. If everyone expects us to be one thing, they’ll never stop to consider we could be something else entirely.”

Diana froze. Something in Bruce’s words... made sense. “That’s it,” she breathed, “that’s how we fix it. We’ve spent so long assuming whatever brought Steve back was from your world, we never stopped to think it may be from mine.” It all made sense. Someone must be pulling the strings to bring him back. Optimism rose in her chest as Diana realised maybe there was something she could do to fix this. She could bring her Steve back to him.

“I need to go.”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll walk you out. Come on.”

At the entrance to the gala they called a car to take Diana home. “When I get home tonight, I’m assuming you won’t be there?” 

She shook her head. “No. I need to get Steve to Themyscira. The answers may be there.” The car was pulling up, a museum employee opening the side door for her. She turned to Bruce, and reached up to press a kiss against his cheek. “I’m sorry for the things I said. Thank you, for everything. For bringing him back to me. I can’t thank you enough.” Bruce nodded, seeming quietly glad he’d succeeded.

She slid into the back of the car and left, her mind whirring. There was work to be done.

 

~*~

 

“Get up!”

Diana had marched into Steve’s room, still in her dress. She was reaching through assorted drawers, pulling out clothes – she assumed provided by Bruce – and tossed them in the direction of the bed. A confused Steve sat up, bleary eyed. He was propped up on his elbows, tangled in bed sheets. He must not have been sleeping well when Diana disturbed him. 

“What’s going on?” Then something kicked in, likely from military days. He shot out of bed and stood up straight, grabbing a T-shirt to throw on to go with blue pyjama trousers. “What’s wrong?”

She turned, grabbing a duffle bag that had been left in the spare room. “We have to go. I think I know how to fix your memories.” Steve frowned, but followed. He folded the clothes Diana had thrown with careless abandon and folded them into the bag. She supposed he was used to travelling light. “What do you mean? Why rush – nice dress – but where are we going?” Steve had every right to ask questions, but Diana didn’t have time for details. There was a new vigour in her step. Yes, she had felt like there was no solution for some time, but this new pathway could lead to something... anything. She’d realised she couldn’t give up on Steve. Would he give up on her if it were the other way around? She hoped not. It was time for the truth.

“All these memories you have, of the war? They’re real. It’s real. I don’t have time to-”

Steve stopped her there. “What? They’re meant to be – what do you mean they’re real? If they’re real... I gotta be over a hundred. What are you talking about?” Diana could tell he was confused, and rightly so. She pulled out some jeans from a drawer and passed them. “Get dressed. We have to go.” She turned to hastily pack the bag as Steve put them on. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, but it felt wrong to pry all the same.

She closed the duffle bag and thrust it into his arms. “I don’t have time to explain it all now. I promise I will soon. Come on, plane leaves in less than an hour.” She turned on the spot, grabbing her own bag she’d left at the door. “No. Why would I go anywhere with you? You _hate_ me. You screamed at me to leave you alone yesterday, and now-” Steve cut himself off, noticing the distinct lack of cuts and bruises on her face. Diana’s heart sunk at his refusal, and the idea that she could be so hateful.

“I don’t hate you.” She shook her head, turning back in the doorway to face him. “I promise- I don’t hate you.” In fact, it was quite the opposite. “I’m sorry. I apologise for shouting at you yesterday. Things are... my head’s all over the place. I can explain everything to you now.” Her voice was softer, only now fully realising how cruel she had been to him. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. She needed him to believe him.

“Where are we going?” Steve stood rooted to his spot, clearly confused and frustrated that he wasn’t getting the whole story.

Diana sighed. “Home. I promise I’ll tell you everything in the car. I need you to come with me.” Her eyes met his, like some sort of hidden message in her words.

_I need you._

This wasn’t the first time they had connected in such a way since they were reunited. Whether Steve understood fully or not, he nodded. “Fine,” he muttered, sounding as if he couldn’t believe he was agreeing.

The car was still waiting outside, and they slid in. The car sped off into the night. 

It wasn’t long before the questions started.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Diana took a moment to collect her thoughts. “You’re sworn to secrecy, yes? It’s part of your contract?” She directed the question at the driver, who nodded.

“Okay, look away. I need to change.” Diana ordered, which Steve followed directly. He turned his head to the window and lowered his head. “Will you tell-”

“Yes.” She answered quickly, fiddling with the zip at the size of her dress. Who thought zips would be useful in such an inconvenient place? Sometimes modern fashion still baffled her. “Your memories are real. You are Steven Trevor, born 1890. Everything you remember: the war, your life as a pilot, it’s all real. You... You died just before the war ended. Somehow you’re now alive here, and I can’t explain that yet, but hopefully where we’re going we can work it out. I know it sounds insane, but surely you feel it too, you know it’s real.” Steve kept his face turned away, but she could see his shoulders tense in reaction. Maybe he was about to rebut her, and cry for help to be rescued from the mad woman in the car. She paused, watching for any sort of reaction. After a tense moment of silence, Steve responded. “I died in the war? How do you know all this? Was I experimented on or something? How do I know this is all real, you’re not kidnapping me?”

Diana released a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. At least Steve was giving her time to explain. “Give me a minute.” She finally got the dress unfastened and shimmied it over her head. It was difficult in a car. She didn’t notice the driver’s eyes dart over through the rear view mirror, or Steve shooting a glare as if to say _‘come on.’_  

Dress removed, she pulled on some black jeans and buttoned up a deep red blouse. “You can look again. I have something for you.” She shoved the dress unceremoniously into her bag and pulled out the little black box she took everywhere. Carefully opening it, she wedged the glass-framed photo out of its packaging, and passed it to Steve. “You see? This was taken in November, 1918. A week before the war ended.”

Steve’s face oddly lit up in a semi-confused state. “That’s me... and Samy, Chief, and Charlie... how-” he cut himself off on further inspection. His face lowered to the photo, to make out the grainy images more clearly. His head rose again, turning to Diana with a bewildered look. He stared at the central person in the photo again, peering between her black-and-white face and Diana’s own real face. She nodded encouragingly. “That’s us. That’s how I know this is true.” She wasn’t sure how Steve would take this.

“You’re not a psychologist are you? You lied.”

Diana had expected this. Yes, she had lied, and she knew she would have to pay the price eventually. Diana shook her head. “No, I’m not, but I want to help you Steve, that much is true.”

Clearly Steve didn’t want to hear it just yet.

“You lied to me? You told me you were something else to try and get me to trust you, to talk to you. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” He was growing defensive, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Under the accusations Diana felt uncomfortable too. Guilt dropped like a stone in her stomach. “If I had told you the truth you’d have thought you were going mad, or I was mad. I didn’t think it wasn’t fair to go in all guns blazing when I didn’t know how you were, if you could handle understanding the truth.” She was fully capable of defending herself, even though every glare she earned for it hurt. “I’m sorry, Steve. Truly, I am, I do not like pretending to be I’m something I’m not. And I hate to say it, but you taught me.” Referring to his work as a spy made sense, after all, both of them had lied to get information, even thought Diana was sure her lie would always be worse. It was strange how life had re-moulded many of Diana’s beliefs, but maybe that was because her first experiences of men were liars, murderers, and smugglers. She had come to realise that in times of difficulty, people were not really who they were, but who they had to be at the time.

He cursed under his breath, sinking low into his seat. “This is a lot,” he commented, Diana gently taking the photo from his limp hands. She returned it to its place and closed the box for safekeeping. She would leave the watch for another day. That was another story to explain, and she thought Steve may have had one too many already. “It is a lot to take in. Are you all right? Do you have any questions?” She tried, genuinely wanting to help.

“I have a lot of questions.” He snapped, but didn’t reveal them. He fell silent, and remained so for some time. It seemed like he was trying to collect his thoughts so he wouldn’t shout. He was quiet for so long, in fact, that Diana started to worry. She took his hand. “Steve? I promise you, we’re going to fix this.”

“And a promise is unbreakable.” Steve replied, and Diana allowed her heart to swell just for a moment. It was odd to hear her naive words in his mouth. Could it be he was starting to remember? 

He didn’t remove Diana’s hand. He seemed softer now, still hurt by the lies but he didn’t bristle as much when he spoke. “Did they do the same thing to you, brought you back like me?” His murmur made it clear that he wasn’t remembering, maybe he was just parroting. Steve slowly turned to her in solidarity, but his expression was unsure. She shook her head. “I’m different to you, to all of Man. I’m... it’s difficult to explain. I’m... quite a bit older than you.” This was going to take a lot of explaining, she realised. Steve had vital moments of his past missing, and Diana couldn’t take him to Themyscira without explaining who she was first. “I could tell you everything, if you want? Starting from when we met.” She offered, talking softly. “I’m sure you’ve worked out we did know each other, and I’m sure you’ve already wracked your brains to try and remember me back then. Your memories cut out just before we met. I don’t want any more secrets. I could pick up where your memories finish, if you want? It’s a long story.”

No response, then, a small nod.

They had a lot to cover.

 

~*~

 

By the time Diana had explained it all, they had made it not only to the airport, but entirely through it. They had boarded the plane with their bags as carry-on, and were seated ready for take off. “Turkey? You said you were going home.” Steve had pointed out, inspecting his ticket. “We’ll work our way to Themyscira from Turkey.” She left it at that.

They sat in silence for some time, Steve busying himself by fiddling with every button he could find on the plane. Diana guessed he was working out what everything did. When he finally sat still, Diana knew more questions would be on the way.

“So, you’re telling me that to start off, you’re not human, but you’re a warrior princess/goddess from an island of other warrior ladies and who are close to 5000 years old. Then you’re telling me I somehow found it by accident, meeting you, took you to France so you could kill Ares, the Greek God of War. We go on some storybook adventure and I killed myself in a plane?” He rubbed a hand over his face, struggling to take it all in. Diana watched him, unsure of how to make it better. “That’s the rather abridged version of it, but yes,” she nodded, indicating he’d got it right. “Explains why you reacted the way you did when you first saw me. But how am I supposed to believe you?”

That hurt a little, but quickly Diana thought of a solution. “Hold out your arm.” She instructed, reaching into the bag below her seat. She looked around carefully to make sure it would not be seen, and then pulled out the whip of Hestia. Wrapping it around Steve’s wrist inconspicuously, the rope started to glow bright gold. Steve’s eyes widened, and almost pulled away until Diana covered the majority of the rope with her hand, their eyes met, and Diana offered as much comfort as she could. “It’s perfectly safe. I took this from my world. All it does is compel you to tell the truth. Try and lie.” 

Steve gave her an incredulous look, and then opened his mouth to speak. He clamped it shut, swallowing hard. He tried again, humming in difficulty. After a number of tries, he finally admitted, “I can’t,” as Diana unwound the golden whip. She then wrapped it over her own wrist, still concealing it as much as she could. “Now, ask me again.” 

“You’re a warrior goddess?”

“An Amazon, yes.”

“You’re thousands of years old.”

“Give or take a few centuries, yes.”

“I took you to my world and the war?”

“Yes. We went to London, then France.”

“Ares is a real god?”  
  
“He was, then I killed him.” 

“Are vampires real? Or aliens?”

“What? No, vampires are not real. Yes, aliens are.”

It seemed then that Steve was satisfied. He let go of the rope, and allowed Diana to wind and put it away. His hands knotted together. “I have to say, you don’t look a day over a hundred.” 

Diana looked as Steve disbelievingly. He was making jokes now? “Same to you,” she retorted. They laughed despite it all. 

“I must be losing my mind.” Steve shook his head.

Diana’s heart went out to him. This must be so disorientating for Steve. Her eyes tried to meet his, leaning forward slightly. “You’re not crazy. I’m going to help you, Steve. We can get back all your memories, I’m sure of it.” She didn’t think it would do much to ease his discomfort, but at least Steve softened slightly at her words. “Get some rest,” she suggested, noting the time. “We’ve got a lot of travelling to do, I’ll need your help on this.”

He nodded, shuffling in his seat to get more comfortable. She looked away, smiling as she remembered past conversations.

_‘Does the average man not sleep?’_

She had been so keen to learn then; ready to take in all the information Steve could give her. She hadn’t realised it, but he had already enthralled her. Not much had changed, despite knowing Man like the back of her hand now, Steve was still fascinating. Attempting to get comfortable in her own seat, she knew sleep would be difficult. An entire century had passed, she had no idea what she would be returning to. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind – she would not turn back, she would not hide. 

She was going home.


	7. Big Hand Twelve, Little Hand Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, it's been a while... I'm so sorry to leave you in limbo! First I was in a university show, then in an extracurricular show, then a graduate showcase, and yesterday I came back from France on a tour with my choir.... I'm knackered! Without any more than 2 days to catch a breath, my voice and body is now officially exhausted. But now I have some free time and the fact that I'm not allowed to talk for at least a week means that I have time to bring you lovely people more chapters! Thank you for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy! It's starting to get exciting now!
> 
> (P.S I have some recordings of said choir performing in a church in France with a 12 SECOND ECHO if anyone is interested in what that sounds like I may have a link somewhere!)

_I can save today, you can save the world._

_The sky glowed orange as the plane exploded. Fire filled Diana’s eyes. She could see into the plane as if she were sat in the cockpit, directly in front of him. She could see Steve’s body burn into nothingness. It happened so slowly, his back sliced open by shrapnel. She could see the bone as his flesh slowly melted away. He was looking straight into her eyes. She couldn’t touch him, and she couldn’t stop it. She could only watch in horror. Agonising screams filled the air. She watched as his skin charred at a snail pace, the fire moving inch by inch so Diana would have to watch it all in exact detail, her heart breaking with every second. She couldn’t tell if she was screaming, or if Steve was, or both. She tried to look away, but couldn’t. Someone was holding her by the back of her head, forcing her to watch. There was nothing left but bone, blackened and crumbling away. Only then could she reach out. The remains crumbled to ash in her hand, those icy fingers still piercing her skull. Was it Ares doing this? No, it felt different. Someone else was pulling the strings. She tried her hardest to turn, roaring in effort. They met nose to nose. It was a face she didn’t recognise. Male, and far older than Diana could comprehend. His smile revealed rotting teeth and a stench to match. His breathing rattled, as he wheezed out a laugh that chilled Diana to the bone. She felt his fingers stab into her skull. She screamed._

“Diana! Look at me- look at me.”

Steve filled Diana’s vision. He was still sat in the plane seat next to her, close enough for her to feel warmth emanating from him. This was the complete opposite of what she’d been seeing moments ago. Her breathing slowed, the pain in her head subsiding. He was here. He was alive, and whomever that face belonged to was gone. She only just realised Steve was still talking. “It’s a dream. Whatever it is, it’s not real.” His words were soft, attempting to coax her out of her confusion. As Diana found focus, she relaxed. She didn’t realise she was saying Steve’s name, over and over again. How many times would she have to watch him die? The excruciating detail still etched in her mind’s eye. He nodded encouragingly. “It’s me, Diana. It’s gone now.” Diana couldn’t explain what she’d seen. Steve didn’t ask. Perhaps he assumed it was a nightmare like the ones Charlie used to get. Either way, he was offering his comforts, and she accepted them. 

They were still, entirely comfortable in each other’s personal space. They stayed transfixed until the soft _‘bing’_ of the seatbelt sign rang out. Steve suddenly sprang back, having remembered himself. He fiddled his seatbelt, and Diana pretended not to notice his beetroot coloured cheeks. She didn’t understand, intimacy one moment, then pushing it away the next. She was certain by now that Steve must have had some sort of feelings for her, or he wouldn’t behave the way he did. She didn’t want to push him. Embarrassed from her outburst, she busied herself with her own seatbelt, inadvertently showing him how to remove the modern contraptions. They’d landed, and now the hard part was about to begin.

They disembarked without much difficulty. Their bags were carry on, so they could leave the airport as soon as possible. Diana led Steve to the nearest tourist shop, enjoying the temperature that felt so familiar to her home. Steve, however, seemed to be very warm. By the time they made it to the air-conditioned shop, his face was flushed, and his hair was starting to stick to his forehead in places. Somehow, Diana found it endearing. “Remember I said I’d need your help?” She was leading him to a counter covered in various maps of Turkey and Europe. “I need you to retrace your steps. The last movements you can remember.” She stated, opening a map of Europe.

Without any hesitation Steve took the map from her hands, spreading it over the table. Diana watched avidly as he concentrated, staring at him as he stared at the map. She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen. 

“You’re looking at me funny.”

Diana swiftly took a step back, muttering a quick: “sorry.” Steve nodded, his concentration back on the map. He pointed to a small dot somewhat inland in Turkey called ‘Denizli.’

“That’s where I was sent. That’s where I took the book from.” He nodded, affirming it to himself. His eyes flickered around the room, searching. Diana took a wild guess at what he was after and pulled a pencil from a box of souvenir stationary. He frowned at the printed ‘I heart Istanbul’ in confusion, but took it regardless. He circled the city, and another dot titled ‘London’ in Great Britain. “I took a plane and headed in a straight line for London. I don’t think I travelled very long, as things start to go fuzzy pretty soon after that.” He scrawled a line in between the two dots, circling a patch in the Aegean Sea, east of Greece. “I think I must have crashed somewhere around here, but I can’t be sure.”

Diana’s eyes narrowed, studying the map and Steve’s markings. She nodded. “That’s our best bet.” She picked up the map, paying the vendor for it, who was now rather irritated they had defaced his product before paying. She paid no attention and motioned for Steve to leave with her.

As they walked Diana was already on her phone, searching through her connections. Steve was asking questions, which she ignored up until: 

“How are we going to get there?”

Diana turned to him; unsure of the answer she would receive. “Do you think you could fly a plane to retrace your steps? I know it’s a big favour to ask.” Steve seemed somewhat baffled by Diana’s question, and she couldn’t blame him. He seemed unsure, perhaps daunted by the idea of being responsible for finding Diana’s home – which she hadn’t seen in a hundred years. She was certain he understood how important this was, and maybe that’s why he found his resolve.

“I can try. After all, how much could planes have changed since then?”

 

~*~

 

As it turns out, planes had changed _a lot_ since the 1900s.

Diana called in a few favours she had collected over the years and managed to get the oldest functioning plane they could – from a classic fanatic who restored older planes to be fully operational. She had another favour owed to her by an excellent forger, who she had corresponded with during their flight over. He had a new licence for Steve waiting by the time they landed in Istanbul.

Steve had been given twenty minutes with the fanatic to go over any controls he wasn’t quite sure of. Diana watched as the rather rich man explained in detail as Steve listened avidly. It was good to see Steve in his element.

With a touch of waving false licences and papers around they managed to swindle the plane. A few weeks’ worth of rent was costly, but it was their best hope of finding Themyscira.

With very little fuss they had managed to get in the air and were on their way. Steve had already explained all the details of the aircraft he was flying; clearly excited to be flying something that – to him – was so modern. 

“The Boeing Model 247 is apparently one of the earliest commercial planes, first manufactured in the thirties. It has _retractable_ landing gear! It doesn’t go all the way up in case of a wheels-up landing. The wings _move_ to become a de-icer - it has autopilot functions! How does it do that?” He continued to babble in a similar fashion for some time, all the while Diana was busy admiring his piloting skills. He’d picked up the differences very quickly, and this was the most at-ease she’d seen him in this time. Perhaps it was comforting to pretend to be living in a time close to his original lifespan.

After a while Steve’s sentences trailed off, and silence filled the cabin. They were following the map as closely as they could, and had worked out a rough circle that should contain Themyscira... somewhere. It was a long shot.

Steve seemed to pick up on Diana’s worries. “Have you been home, since you left?”

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the map. “No. I tried to go once, but was interrupted.” That was the night of the fight across Metropolis and Gotham, when they killed the Doomsday creature. She was unsure if Steve knew about that, she didn’t know how much recent news he’d been catching up on.

“Oh,” Steve nodded, and silence fell among them again. Diana was sure Steve had further questions. It wouldn’t be long before curiosity got the better of him.

“On the flight,” it seemed Diana was right. Steve continued his thought, “When you had the rope on you-”

“The Lasso of Hestia-”

“Right, right. You said something about aliens?” Diana turned to him, amused. That’s what he wanted to ask about? “I did.” She affirmed.

“So they’re definitely real?”

“As real as you or me.”

“Okay,” Steve went quiet for another moment, trying to look like he was concentrating on flying but Diana was sure he was mulling it all over. “Have you ever met one?”

Diana laughed, somewhat touched by the conversational tone Steve was striking up. “Just the one, yes.”

Steve nodded, taking it in. “What are they like? Because I read War of the Worlds when I was a kid, and I gotta say it scared the bejeezus out of me.” He shrugged, and Diana finally understood what he was saying.

She smiled. “The one I knew was very nice, he was a kind man who loved his home. His own planet was destroyed when he was very young, and he was taken in here, he had his own adoptive parents, and made a life for himself. He loved this planet, and its people... He died last year.”

Steve had been looking at Diana intently for a short moment, before concentrating back on the skies. “That’s a shame,” he gave his condolences. Steve was always courteous and respectful, so much so that Diana thought he and Clark might have been friendly in another life.

“A shame, yes. He was going to get married.”

All that could be heard in the cabin was the soft hiss of air rushing past them outside. The compacted space suddenly felt much smaller. Steve coughed. “Um, was that to you, or...” 

“Me? No, of course not.” Diana shook it off, somewhat confused by Steve’s line of questioning. From the looks of it he seemed embarrassed. He shrugged, “okay, I just thought, you know, you’re a pretty special person, and I thought you’d need someone pretty special to match.”

“I did.” Her voice was barely audible. The claustrophobia suddenly vanished, and Diana realised just how far away Steve really was from her, from the man he used to be. It was easy to forget. She changed the subject quickly. “No, I know his girlfriend. She’s a lovely woman. I was with both of them when he died.” She could remember Lois’ grief, and how they found friendship in their solidarity. In fact, Lois was the only person Diana had talked to about Steve, not naming him, but they had discussed some events previously. Two women who’d lost someone to saving the world. Diana liked Lois, whenever she travelled to America she made sure to stop in on Metropolis to catch up and check on her. Lois still wore Clark’s ring.

The quiet tension was creeping in again. It seemed to make Steve uncomfortable, as he quickly broke it. “So, aliens are nice and gods are real. Not your average week then.” He forced a chuckle, but Diana could feel something was wrong. She didn’t want to push him.

“I have one more question,” he started, breaching Diana’s curiosity for her, “and I promise I won’t be upset or offended or anything by your answer, I’d just like to know the honest answer.” Diana nodded, fully prepared to keep to her word, but she could feel the anxiety rising in her chest. “What do you want to know?”

Steve frowned, attempting a number of false starts before he finally found his words. “We worked together, in the war, right?”

“Yes, we travelled from Themyscira to London, then to France, and finally to Belgium.” 

“In any of that time, were we together?”

Diana should have known this was coming. The countless moments of intimacy, her reaction to him when they first met, he was bound to ask questions sooner or later. She didn’t quite know how to respond. Luckily, before she had to answer, she noticed something far more important. 

“Steve, the fog.”

He started to retort – probably wanting an answer to his question – but he then noticed it too. They were suddenly engulfed in a thick fog. They could barely see past the nose of the plane. Diana turned to him, unsure of his reaction. He seemed confused, but determined. “This feels familiar. I’m going to keep going.” Diana watched as Steve urged them forward, slowly, just in case. It had come from nowhere, so it had to mean something.

The plane slowly and steadily continued on. Diana kept her eyes peeled for anything important or dangerous. Suddenly, the sky seemed to rupture before them. The plane shook, vibrations thrumming against the metal through from the nose onward. Then, out of nowhere the sky was clear. It was like they had pierced a balloon and – pop – the fog was gone and they were flying clear in a blue tropical sky. She leaned forward in her seat, determined to get a good look at the island before her.

She was home.

Diana couldn’t stop herself from beaming from ear to ear. She was finally home. It was just as beautiful as she remembered it. She didn’t realise Steve was watching her. If their eyes had met in that moment, he would have likely had the answer to his earlier question.

Then, Diana noticed something. She could see small dots careering towards the edge of the cliffs. They must have been on horseback. Only then did they see the first arrow heading towards them. “They’re defending themselves.” Diana stood, understanding that the Amazons had every right to defend their land after the last invaders. She needed to communicate to them that she and Steve were here as friends, that she was coming home. 

“Get us as close to the beach as you can.” She instructed, grabbing her bag, moving to leave the cabin. Steve nodded. “Whatever you’re going to do-” he’d picked up on her tone of voice. “Be careful.” Diana nodded, quickly leaving as she saw arrows bounce off the metal casing of the plane. The metal was fine, but she saw a hole pierced in the glass by a flaming arrow. Steve jumped, but held his nerve. She needed to do something.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her lasso. Lengthening the rope as much as she could, she tied one end to a handle by the exit door. She then looped the shield through her left arm, leaving the other free to hold the rope. She tied the free end of the rope around her waist, tight, and forced open the door. It flew off in the wind, and air gushed in, with a deafening crash. Diana thought she could hear Steve’s voice above the racket, but her decision was already made. Gripping the rope firmly with both hands, she kicked off from the edge of the floor, and was whisked out of the doorway at break neck speed.

The wind blew her back before she was even fully outside the plane. She was thrown back, lights burst behind her eyes has she felt a solid crack on the back of her skull. Slightly dazed, she held onto the rope as tightly as she could while she gained her bearings. She felt blood drip down the back of her neck as she began to move. She inched down the rope until it was stretched out at full length. She knew this was dangerous and reckless, but she couldn’t risk the Amazons shooting down the plane. Diana knew she could survive a fall, or even a crash, but she didn’t want to risk Steve, not again.

She held on with her right hand, bringing up the shield to protect herself as a wave of arrows flew by. The lasso started to glow. Surely they knew who was in possession of the Lasso of Hestia? She waved as best as she could, raising her shield high into the air for the Amazons to see.

She was struggling to see properly against the violent winds, but she was certain she could make out a solitary figure moving across the edge of the cliff. They must have been on horseback, as she flitted from one end of the archers’ line to the other. The formation moved back. It must have worked! Excitement shivered through Diana – or was that the cold wind? Either way, she felt pure joy and exhilaration to be home.

At least, until she felt a pain in her side, burning through her stomach. Looking down she realised what had happened. While the archers were called off, a stray arrow had been loosed, and in one quick lapse in concentration, she now could see the wooden shaft protruding from her skin.

Instinct kicked in and she snapped the arrow, making the weapon shorter and therefore less likely to catch on something and make things worse. She wasn’t sure if it had gone straight through her, she could only feel blood spilling through her fingers as she tried to hold her side. She usually healed quickly but this was bad, she didn’t know what to do with all the blood. She fumbled with her shield, and saw the cliff edge getting closer and closer. It seemed Steve had worked out that it was safe to land, and all Diana could do was hold onto the rope as tightly as she could as the plane lowered to the ground. She could see a cavalry of Amazons charging towards her, pushing up to stand on their horses as they chased after the plane. They stretched out to grab her as soon as she was within reaching distance. 

The moment she felt warm hands on her she let go of the rope. As she was gently held by a strong pair of arms, she realised they were moving her away, having untied her so Steve could land properly. The horse turned on its heels and headed in the opposite direction. Diana was being moved now, manipulated into sitting on the horse properly, she gripped its mane to try and stay on, but she realised those hands still held her firm.

“You needn’t worry, Diana. I’ve got you.”

It felt both alien and comforting to hear her native language being spoken again. She knew that voice anywhere. “Mnemosyne,” she breathed, relief washing over her. Her old tutor, fierce, but fair, was holding her upright, in full control of the situation. The feeling of peace didn’t last long, as Diana felt the searing pain tear through her side again. She tensed, falling to the side as she was pulled away from the horse. She felt more than saw Mnemosyne lower her onto a slab of rock, there were others too, gently manipulating her body and tearing away a section of her shirt – it was a shame, she’d liked that shirt – so the wound could be dealt with. Then she remembered why she was here.

“Steve-” she started to try and sit up, shaking her head. “It’s okay, I heal fast. I’m fine,” she mumbled, attempting to ignore the sickening spin the world made as she pushed herself upright. “Where is he?”

So many people were holding her to the rock. None of them were hurting her, but they were firm enough to make sure she stayed still while someone – was it Euboea? – worked on her side. She was dazed, but she couldn’t contain her joy as she realised she was surrounded by familiar faces. Her family. Some murmured gentle words of comfort to her as they pulled the arrow out. 

Diana heard something. A male voice. Steve was calling her name. He’d appeared from somewhere, and was trying to get through the crowd of Amazons. A feeling of warmth swelled in her as they instantly turned, linking together to form a protective circle around their collective daughter. She tried to call out that it was okay, that he was a friend, but her head fell back in agony as the arrow was yanked from her flesh. Mnemosyne’ hands caught her head before it could crack against the rock. One hand was pulled away, she watched as Mnemosyne looked at her own – now bloody – hand above her. She motioned for someone to come and help.

Diana’s words must have worked, because suddenly Steve was next to Mnemosyne, watching somewhat helplessly. He said her name so softly, but darkness was already pulling away her vision. She tried to comfort him, tell him it was okay, but she wasn’t sure if any words came out at all or if they were just in her head. 

She couldn’t fight anymore, she was safe, and she let her eyes close.


End file.
